Я могу, Я должен I can, I must
by Streloc
Summary: He steps in front of the Wish Granter, and lays his rifle on the ground. He takes off his hood, raises his hands, and says, "I want to be... forgiven." A/N and Disclaimer in Chapter 4!
1. Chapter 1

It's dusk. Bodies are strewn everywhere. One of them possessed a PDA that they had used to call for help, their message only half-typed. The battery icon in the top right corner is flashing red, and the screen flickers.

On it is a map of the surrounding area, black and white and vague. A glare sets in on the device as a result of the sun going down.

Wind ferociously rips through the field, pushing the corpses around. The digital antique falls onto the ground from his clutched hand, activating its radio. As it plays, the static-laden music attracts things. Things that are enamored by the strange sound; things that are repulsed by it. A hooded man creeps into the area, bringing with him a Mosin Nagant. He regards his weapon as he sneaks, with its cracked scope and slightly bent barrel. His white and grey suit rips as he stretches it just a bit too far with his crawling, showing his pale and scarred skin. He shows no sign of having noticed, his focus on gathering any loot he can before nightfall. The intruder reaches the body with the PDA, pocketing his items.

As the man furthers his search, the clouds above darken. The sky rumbles; the atmosphere becomes overbearing. The man quickens his pilfering, and takes a bottle out of his bag, one caked in mud. He opens and drinks it hastily, the effects hitting him in almost an instant. His body shakes, his hands tremor. He counteracts the drowsiness with some caffeinated pills, alas, unfortunately (or rather fortunately), they act too late. His grip on his weapon slackens, his eyelids droop, and he slumps over. The surroundings are not much unlike an earthquake. They destroy any evidence of a battle being fought.

Hours later, the thief awakens. Near him, he hears snarling and growling. A snork had wandered nearby and found him.

However, with it being dusk, it could not see him. The snork sniffs the air and edges closer to him. He gets up slowly and picks up some rotted meat left on the ground. The mysterious man brings him arm back and launches the meat at a car window behind the snork. It growls and swings around to investigate what could have made the noise. The aged man begins his lengthy escape, careful to leave soundlessly. He makes it out and takes out a lighter. Four flicks and it manages to hold a flame. His geiger counter clicks ominously, filling the ravine with _tik_ s. Reaching the entrance, he sighs and strides out, only to be swept into a space anomaly.

A boy sits on a swing at a playground, downtrodden. A shuffling sound startles him, putting him on edge. He stands and reaches into his back pocket, keeping his hand on his wand. He watches for movement, but sees none.

The man, unknown to the boy, flanked him when he got up, and points his rifle at him from a distance. The Wizarding World savior sees a flash of metal reflect in his glasses and whirls around, taking his wand out of his pocket and facing the man, his wand twinkling dangerously.

"Who are you?" He asks the man. He gets no answer. Another sound disrupts their standoff, it being Harry's cousin Dudley.

The man hides in a few bushes nearby as the boy is distracted by his cousin.

Ever since the Dursleys had taken Harry in, they looked upon him with indifference. The phrase "It won't bother you if you won't bother it" came to mind, and so that was how Harry spent the first decade of his life. Dudley was no exception to this. As such, they remained neutral. He says softly, "Harry, Dad needs you home," Harry nods and lowers his wand. Dudley glanced at it and briefly wondered why he had it out.

They walk back and the man sleeps underneath a nearby bridge close to a river. He decides to monitor the playground. He needed answers and the green eyed boy seemed like the perfect way to obtain them. Three days later, he shows up, wary. The man approaches him unarmed. "Who are you?" He tries again. The man looks at him with sad eyes and replies in a hard and fast language. Harry, only having been to Hogwarts for three years, did know language spells, but he had to know the name of the language being spoken to use it. With their language barrier, the boy raises his hand toward him.

After a few seconds, the man shakes his hand, and they relax minutely. The man understood a few things now. He was in a foreign land, and in a neighborhood with children. But why? Why did the Zone send him here? He'll think about the situation later. For now, he's going to ally himself with the boy.

Harry, after some consideration, shows the man the Light Spell. He's unaffected by it. Maybe he has seen magic before?

Shrugging, he shows him another spell. 30 seconds and a _"Levios_ _a!"_ later, the man just nods after a moment.

A month passes. They repeat their three day ritual and soon they are uneasy companions. One day, as they are together, a mist descends on them along with a feeling of dread. Harry's cousin runs toward them from the fog, yelling for Harry to get back to the house. Dudley notices the man and walks up carefully.

After a quick argument, Harry and his cousin stay with the man. During their spat, he had rummaged through his bag and retrieved his gun. Nobody knew it wasn't loaded, but that was to his advantage. He levels it and waves his hand behind him to make the signal for them to move back. As they move, he scans his surroundings. He catches a wisp of _something_ in the fog. He shoulders his rifle and equips his long serrated Soviet knife. The boy behind him steadies himself and stands straight, obviously mustering himself. The man wields his knife in a reverse hand grip and slips into a combat stance.

They wait near the outskirts of the playground, almost huddled in a circle. Dudley quivers and falls to the ground, holding himself in the fetal position. The man and the boy get closer together. A figure emerges from the fog. The man readies himself. Harry knows that he can't cast anything, being bound by the Trace. But yet, he searches his memories for happiness. His recollection of meeting Ron and Hermione on the train make him feel warm; his recollection of making his first friend makes him feel comfort. As his friend goes to attack the Dementor, he casts his Patronus, and it chases the monster away. After a few minutes, Dudley recovers, and they return to Number 4, leaving the man.

A detector goes off in an office, and a woman with greying hair hears it as she finishes her daily paperwork. She writes a letter and sends it off, and soon Harry Potter is summoned to the Wizengamot.

Dumbledore takes care of the altercation, explaining it as necessary. Several members did not take a liking to that, but his authority superseded theirs. Harry was let off with a warning, and told someone would 'keep an eye on him', and got sent on his way.

He had a week before he left for Hogwarts. This was something he somehow needed to tell his friend. Making it to the playground, they greeted each other. Harry learned that he had a newfound talent for charades. During their interactions, they learned each others' names. He did not know what 'Strelok' meant, but it was definitely not a common name. So, his friend wanted to accompany him to Hogwarts. He didn't know how to pull it off, but he felt certain that he could. Harry had seen the man sneak around; he could do it with that sort of stealth.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry boards the train, meeting Ron and Hermione and sitting in their usual spot.

He engages them in conversation, asking them how their summers were and what they did. Following him is Strelok, underneath his invisibility cloak.

"But enough about us, how was your summer Harry?" Hermione queried. "Oh, it wasn't too bad, the Dursleys didn't bother me," he answered nonchalantly. "Well, that's good mate!" Ron offered. Harry nodded and they were left in a comfortable silence. Strelok moved further into the compartment, away from the door.

Just then, Draco and his two servants barged in and created a ruckus. "How are my favorite blood-traitor, mudblood, and half-blood doing?" He sneered.

"Bugger off, Malfoy. Nobody wants you here," Ron cries. Hermione ignores him and continues reading. Harry responds, "Better than a Death Eater's son, surely,"

Draco takes his wand from an inner pocket and points it at his head. "I'd challenge you to a duel for that, but I'll get my chance later," He almost whispers, disgustedly. Harry brandishes his own wand, and Ron and Hermione do the same, Hermione albeit slower. Hermione speaks up, "What do you mean by that, _Draco_?" enunciating his name for emphasis. Right behind Malfoy's head, a hand slowly but surely appears out of thin air, heading for his throat. Ron and Hermione don't see it, but Harry does. He barely shakes his head, and it disappears. Harry walks up to Malfoy, and their foreheads touch together. "I guess we'll see, won't we?" He mutters, almost sweetly. Draco narrows his eyes.

They leave the compartment, letting them be until they round the bend. "What do you think he meant?" Ron asked nobody in particular. "I'm not sure Ron, but it can't be good,"

Hermione replies.

"I'm with Hermione. Whatever this is, it isn't good." They make it to the Great Hall after leaving Hogsmeade Station, and wait for Dumbledore to address them before the Welcoming Feast.

Strelok waits outside for them, eyeing any and all exits and thinking of possible strategies to use. He doesn't wait for long, and he spots them half an hour later, in a crowd. Harry seems irritated, Ron looks excited, and Hermione feels concerned. Strelok briefly wonders why, before tailing them, remembering to follow in their footsteps. Harry drops something wrapped in a bundle of cloth, and he picks it up. When he unwraps it, he discovers that it's a steaming chicken. He wraps it back up planning to eat it later, and stays with the trio. Harry had wanted this year to be normal, and the Tournament coming up is just something for him to ignore. The three make it to the common room and each go to their respective beds after wishing each other a good night. Harry was trying to choose where his friend would sleep, but he already figured it out to his surprise. Strelok lay in a corner, with a camo sleeping bag and the cloak covering both of them. He put a finger to his lips and drew the cloak over him. Harry grinned and turned over.

The next day they visited Hagrid, and helped him tend to the Grounds. Natrally this involved the Forest, but they kept to the edge. They all spread out, each having a spot for themselves. Harry thought he saw a flash of something, and tidied up faster. He relaxed and smiled when he heard a beep.

Harry and Ron had forgotten about Mr. Weasleys' old car. It had apparently been living on it's own in the Forest. The Ford Anglia came up to Harry, and he repaired it. It flashed its' headlights in thanks and opened a door for him. He got in after opening the passenger for Strelok.

They got comfy and let the automobile take over. It took them into the forest and showed them a small cave it hid in. After he had figured it out, Strelok told Harry that he would stay with the car, and gave him his cloak back. Harry refused it and let the older man have it. After all, he didn't have magic. He needed an advantage at Hogwarts. Besides, what were friends for? With that line of reasoning, he left and continued to clean up the Forest boundaries. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Hagrid, and Fang all met up again and went back to his shack. They all enjoyed some much needed tea after the excursion and chatted about pleasant things. The Golden Trio left for dinner, and bid each other a good night once again.

The next day was Sunday, and with it brought Ron, who talked to (or rather at)

Harry about the World Cup.

He asked if Harry had had a ticket, and he answered in the affirmative. When Sirius got out, he wanted to repay Harry for missing all of his birthdays. The huge fortune his family had was no deterrent to this. He also naturally wanted to be a good Godfather, so that included taking Harry(plus one) to the World Cup. Harry, being Harry, chose to take Hermione with him. Ron and the rest of the Weasleys had rented a small site for a few hours, managing to from his father saving money. At 1:00 in the afternoon, Molly came and took them outside of the Grounds, where they Portkeyed to their site. Unbeknownst to them, another hand had grabbed on at the last second, it being invisible.

Harry was greeted by a cheerful man who bear hugged him as soon as he landed. "Harry! How have you been, pup?" Sirius wondered. "Pretty good, after getting back to Hogwarts," he answered honestly. They bantered amiably for a few minutes, catching up, until it was time for the Cup.

They all sat down in their seats waiting impatiently for it to start. Hermione was only impatient so that she could read afterward. Veela swarmed the field, their outfits hugging their curves in all the right places. Their charms entranced every male in the crowd. Ron had even attempted to jump, heedless of it being fatal seeing as they were high up.

Harry paid no mind to them and their antics and instead watched for the teams to emerge. Soon following, the Twins won their bet with Bagman, to his displeasure. A clamor of "C'mon, pay up!" and Fred and George were 100 galleons richer. Ron was still miffed at the gold being fake; he wanted to pay Harry back for all that he had given him. Despite Harry's explanation of "It's okay Ron, you've already paid me back by being my friend", he was unaffected. Leaving him to sulk, Harry went into Sirius's tent, and fell asleep.

He awoke to yelling and screaming. Strelok shook him and pointed outside. Harry drew his wand and likewise Strelok his knife. They met Hermione right outside the entrance. "I've been trying to get in for the past 10 minutes, but it wouldn't let me in," she accused the tent. "It doesn't matter now. Death Eaters are attacking. We have to go, now."

"Where are we going?"

"A small clearing in the trees nearby, Mr. Weasley thinks it's safe there,"

When they got there, Harry spotted Draco. "Where's Daddy, Draco? Off torturing again?"

Malfoy snarled, "If he was, it'd be to you, Potter,"

Ron got his wand out and focused it on him. "Say that again," He threatened.

In their scuffle, Harry slipped out, only to be stopped by Hermione. "What are you doing, Harry?"

"I don't want innocent people to die Hermione, especially if I could have done something."

She tries to stop him from going, but ends up going with him. They see a masked man in a dark cloak casting fire to campsites. They sneak up on him and both send Stunners his way. The Death Eater gets knocked out, and they continue searching. They found two robbing a family. One noticed them, levitated nearby debris, and Banished it at them. Hermione dodged a piece of wood, only to be hit in the head with an iron pipe. She crumpled onto the ground and Harry rushed over to defend her. He tried to Petrify the man, but he used a reflective shield and his own spell came back at him. He side stepped and they continued to fight.

The Death Eater casting spells attracted the attention of his partner, and they both used lethal spells to do in Harry.

10 seconds later, they had their throats slit, and a knife dripping with blood vanished into thin air.

Harry dragged Hermione's body back to the clearing and tried to rouse her before anyone noticed them. She awoke and asked what happened. Harry told her that he overpowered the two men and she seemed to believe him, although skeptical for a moment.

They all go back to Hogwarts at the end of the night, and classes are cancelled for the following Monday. Harry and Hermione spend it developing theories, while Ron hangs out with Seamus trying to get his mind off of it. Harry goes to visit the Anglia at night, and says farewell to Strelok.

Strelok and the car are becoming friends, although a bit subdued, due to the fact that one is a sentient automobile. He discovers that the old car likes squirrel. As a present, he roasts some for it and their bond strengthens. Strelok falls asleep, keeping his firearm near. The next morning, Harry goes out to get him, and they go back to the common room. Harry, Hermione, and Ron start the school year with their classes. Transfiguration was normal, Potions was hostile, Charms was fun, and Herbology was frustrating.

Ron had taken Divination as an elective, but Harry opted out of it. He rather preferred Ancient Runes, as did Hermione. Regardless, they enjoyed their separate classes, and got together at the end to go to dinner.

There, Dumbledore announced that Durmstrang and Beauxbatons were going to come to Hogwarts. He warned the students to be on their best behavior, and led them outside. Durmstrang came from their lake on a ship that could somehow move underwater; Beauxbatons came from the air, in majestic chariots. Everyone was allured to one of Beauxbatons' students, excluding Harry. Ron, a few seconds later, was shaking Harry excitedly. "Look Harry, it's Viktor Krum!" And look he did, for he was interested in the Quidditch player after his performance at the World Cup.

Krum walked up to them and greeted Harry. "Hello, I am Viktor Krum,"

"I don't think anyone here doesn't know that, but I'm Harry, Harry Potter," Harry responds. "I don't think anyone here doesn't know that," Viktor teased in his accent. They all laugh and return to the Great Hall.

When they all sit down, they find new exotic foods on the table. Ron wanted to try as much of all of it as he could. Harry wasn't too far behind him, although he handled himself with more decorum.

Viktor was delighted in seeing some of his popular homeland dishes but somewhat disgusted by Ron. Nevertheless, he enjoyed them and the nostalgia some of them gave him. When everyone is finished, the Headmaster says that everyone 5th year and up can enter their name for the Drawing.

Fred and George decide to sneak to Hogsmeade and buy age potions. Ron joins them in their scheming. Harry and Hermione wisely stay out of it. Viktor says he's going to enter his name in it, while Ron and the twins encourage him. "If you're serious, good luck," Harry says, hopeful for his new friend. "Thank you Harry, I think I'll need it," the professional Quidditch player smirks. "Hey, I need help with something, do you mind?" Viktor shakes his head and they leave the Great Hall.

Harry and Viktor go to an old classroom. Harry _alohomora_ 's the door, and Krum sits on a desk. "So, what is it you need? Hopefully not a favor," He grins suggestively, making a crude motion with his hand at the last word. Harry laughs and denies it. "Strelok!" He calls, waving his hand.

He throws off the cloak in a single movement. Viktor gasps and takes out his wand. Harry steps in front of the older man, saying "No, he's a friend," as he tries to block Krum's path. "What kind of friend needs to sneak and be invisible? And be called Strelok?" the celebrity questions.

"I don't know the meaning of his name, just that it is what he calls himself," Harry responds. "Just talk with him, he can tell you more,"

And talk they did. They engaged in a long conversation in his language, and the minutes ticked on. Strelok asked him about a mind spell, as Viktor was unbelieving of his story. Viktor knew bits and pieces of Ligilimency, as it was offered to the best of the best students at Durmstrang. So, Viktor went into his mind.

What he saw both horrified and interested him. He saw images of a distant future, one in a dangerous place. A place where you had to be careful with every step that you took. A place that, while it held many threatening things, was also one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

"Where will you go?" The Bulgarian sees an older man ask Strelok. He replies, "To... the North." and the legend wanders out. He sees Strelok wielding something in his hand. He shows it to his colleague, the older man and says mystically, "If only you knew where I've just been and what I've seen,"

Colors flash in his eyes, and everything is blindingly white. Viktor shields his face. And then everything darkens. He lowers his arm from his face. He sees a building behind a yellow-orangish triangular sign. He walks toward it, grass being crushed under his feet. He sees a man in a tattered jacket, with a Muggle firearm.

Krum sees an army of rodents rush toward them, and backs away. The man fires on them. The Durmstrang student hears someone shout behind him, "Strelok!" Strelok stops firing his weapon, and turns.

Everything turns white again. Things speed up. He hears to his left, in the blank void, "Got a job for you, Marked One." To his right, "Once you've got the briefcase, don't bring it here," Behind him, "Marked One! Still alive? That's great."

In front of him, "One day you'll finish badly, Strelok," He puts his hands over his ears and looks around for something, anything. He feels something drip onto his head. He looks up. He sees clouds. Around him is that strange building again. Krum searches for Strelok. He finds him going down a ladder. Krum follows him. Strelok starts firing his weapon and hides behind cover as he spots a few Monolithians. They go on through the corridors like this, as a sort of routine. Shoot, run, find cover, reload, shoot. Suddenly, as they hide, a voice pounds them. "Come to me," it says. "You deserve a reward. Come to me."

They keep going, Viktor bewhildered yet determined, Strelok impassive. He climbs another ladder and they find a door. The Marked one kills more Monolithians and they continue into a room with green canisters. After a minute or two, Strelok looks behind himself, cocks his weapon, and destroys the canisters.

They appear in a field. The older man lays down in it and cries, feeling the grass. He says to himself, "I don't know whether I was right or wrong. But I made it, and I guess I should be thankful for that." A nearby dragonfly launches off of a thick blade of grass and flies away. Krum shields his face again. After some deliberation, he decides he should really invest in a hood like the other man. He finds himself in a narrow ravine. There are bodies all over the place. Flies swarm among them, eating the exposed flesh. The smell is atrocius. Viktor wrinkles his nose and starts to breathe from his mouth. Strelok crawls down from a nearby ledge, and starts looting one of the bodies. He gets caught in some type of storm, finds a weird creature, and escapes from it. As the man leaves the ravine, he gets swept into a white circle that swallows him.

He leaves his mind. Strelok, though he shows no sign of it, suffers from a nosebleed and has blood coming from his ears. Prolonged exposure to the Legilimens causes more and more pain to the victim. Even more to one without magic. Harry Vanishes the blood as they finish, not wanting to interrupt during the process. He asks what the Bulgarian saw. Krum responds with nothing. He just looks at Strelok's arm, to which he bares it, showing him the Mark. He nods, and leaves.

Harry decides it's their business, and lets them be. He waves for his friend to follow him. The famed Stalker dons the cloak and goes with him, leaving the classroom.


	3. Chapter 3

It was the day of the Drawing. At breakfast, The trio and Bulgarian split up, him giving the reason of his Headmaster needing him for something. Naturally, they shrugged it off. During their years at Hogwarts, it wasn't uncommon to be randomly called to Dumbledore's office. Harry and Ron didn't complain, however when they saw the delicious mouth-watering dishes in store for the Hogwarts students. They dug into nearby blueberry crepes with gusto, Ron accidentally staining his robes in his enthusiasm, and Harry at a calmer pace. They left soon after Ron removed the blemish, and went to their first class. In Transfiguration, their assignment had been to Transfigure a raven to a writing desk. When McGonagall gave them an example of how to perform said Transfiguration, mostly everyone was confident in their ability. The three friends had varying levels of success. Throughout the class, Ron idly wondered what the difference was between a writing desk and a regilar desk. Hermione said nothing in response but smirked and continued to remove feathers. Harry was adequate in his attempt. He mostly got it, apart from his writing desk feeling _soft_. He got an Acceptable. Ron barely managed, having his writing desk still have a beak and eyes, along with a darker color of wood than specified. Hermione was exceptional, getting an Outstanding, keeping her standard of topping the class. Of course, after years of using and being accustomed to the same system to change something, it wouldn't be the hardest thing, right? Following Transfiguration was DADA. The new professor, some retired Auror, didn't get to be introduced at the Welcoming Feast, as the Tournament had taken precedence. The seasoned man made his speech, pausing every few minutes to take a drink from a silver flask in a hip pocket. In the middle of his talking, his eyes flitted over suddenly to the left corner of the room. This wasn't unusual; being a retired Auror meant that you had to be cautious of your surroundings, especially to retire in the first place. Apart from that, he had a reputation for being paranoid. If you looked close enough, you'd see his hands bandaged hands shake ever so slightly. He explained that he had been given authorization to cast some special spells which, after some questions, were revealed to be the Unforgivables. When the students got over the initial announcement, Professor Moody took a swig and motioned behind himself, in a sort of come-hither motion.

Professor Dumbledore appeared seemingly from nowhere, smiling and holding his wand in a interesting posture, almost crossing his arms as it sparkled a deep blue when he regarded the class. He stepped forward, waved Moody aside, and went into even more detail on the lesson. One of the terms for special access was that it required supervision from an outside party; who better than the Supreme Mugwump? Ron was somewhat energized from it. He wanted the opportunity to see Dark spells be cast openly, and without retribution. Harry was pensive, not showing much of a reaction. He knew that he didn't like Unforgivables being cast, especially one so involved in his past. Hermione, like before, grew worried and anxious. They watched as the DADA professor limped over to a table that held a small container. Inside of the container was a Black Widow. Upon the reveal of the spider, Ron carefully took out his wand, hiding it against the underside of his leg.

The professor tortured the spider, made it tap dance and jump around against its will, and finally executed it.

"Any takers?" He grinned wryly. "Don't worry, it will just be the Imperius." The classroom grew even more silent than before. Sighing, the old Auror decided to take matters into his own hands and used it on everyone. All the while, Dumbledore giving cheerful comments.

"Well, I certainly didn't know this many students had such a talent for leap frog!" he chuckled. Ron, after a few seconds, strained to resist it. He couldn't, and began leap-frogging like the rest. Harry and Hermione soon followed suit, to their displeasure. Harry vowed that he wouldn't let anyone cast it on him. Hermione, being the scholar she is, said that she'd help him get around it.

Professor Moody Vanished the spider corpse, and the students left to go to their next classes. Potions wasn't anything new; Snape gave him a leer every now and then, and Draco an underhanded comment, but they got through it. Ron ended up the same as Seamus, Crabbe, and Goyle, though he did get better marks due to Hermione lecturing him over the years. Harry and Hermione, when left to their own devices, found that they could easily get Exceeds Expectations. After Potions, they left to go to lunch. On the way, Harry remarked on the weird nature of Potions being in late morning, and the stuffiness of the dungeons. Lunch was spectacular, with many of the same exotic selections as before. Harry found himself gorging a bit.

Charms was as pleasant as ever. Almost every student did well with the atmosphere being so light. Ancient Runes was a breeze with Hermione helping him in any areas that he struggled. Herbology made Harry want to tear his hair out. It was a class he hadn't much patience for, at least when it came to the Mandrakes.

Dinner was a lot like Lunch. The only notable difference being that he got to enjoy himself with Viktor again. Harry had pondered on why the Durmstrang student three years his senior had accepted him so readily. He conceded after realising that he was a celebrity too, that he needed to form his own opinion instead of listening to hearsay. Finding his line of thought logical, Harry asked Ron about his family. He didn't know much about how they coped after the World Cup, so he was curious as a result.

Their conversation drug on, pausing at times for both to eat and drink. Suddenly, all of their plates disappeared. Dumbledore rose from his seat and went over to the Goblet. Hushed murmurings came; who would be the champion of Beauxbatons? of Durmstrang? of Hogwarts? Did anyone get past the age line? Could the Goblet be tricked? Paying their speculations no heed, Dumbledore slightly raises his voice and says, "The champion for Durmstrang will be..." He prods the top of the Goblet with his wand, prompting it to spit out a half-burned scrap of parchment. "Viktor Krum." Applause and cheers were scattered around the Hall. Harry pats him on the back and he gets up to meet the Headmaster, only to be directed into a backroom. Dumbledore goes through the motions again, and says that the Beauxbatons Champion is Fleur Delacour. Once again, applause and cheers were heard, only this time they also carried with them a few cat-calls.

She met the old Headmaster and nodded at him, somewhat disdainfully, before heading into the room after the Bulgarian. Cedric Diggory came to be Hogwarts champion, which was overall pretty good. Hufflepuffs are noble and loyal, so who better to represent the school? Cedric raises his arms into the air and pumps them, yelling happily. He jogs up to the Headmaster, and goes after Fleur.

Just then, before Dumbledore was going to return to his seat, the Goblet sent out another piece of paper. He turns around, and whisks it from the air, the blue fire illuminating his serious features.

"Harry Potter." He crumples the parchment in his hand.

"Sir?" Harry asks, confused. "It seems this is not a TriWizard Tournament any longer, Harry." Dumbledore replies sadly.

"Go wait for me in the other room,lad."

And so he does, grimacing. As he enters his footsteps reverberate, alerting the room's occupants that someone had entered.

"Harry? Am I needed for something?" Cedric wonders. Harry shakes his head and walks into the space further, going to sit near a corner adjacent to the door. The other Champions, as Cedric asked, noticed his arrival and stared down at him condescendingly. Durmstrang's Champion was the only exception, his gaze filled with confusion. "So zen, why are you here?" Fleur asks rudely, smiling at him spitefully.

Harry gave no response to her question. When you lived in a house for many years, with people who hardly spoke to you, you hardly spoke back. He was used to living in silence. To some, it would lead to insanity, being silent almost 24/7, but it strengthened Harry's resolve. It let him think before reaching a conclusion. Such ways of getting by also improve one's patience; at least in Harry's case, at the beginning, he was a hot-head. Quick to anger and quick to rebuke; taking after his uncle, Vernon. But things calmed down soon. Petunia convinced her husband to leave him alone, and in doing so forced the Boy-Who-Lived to abandon his father's tendencies. He didn't become cold like some, but distant. Not fully impassive or uncaring to others.

His reaction to Fleur's question was the opposite she was looking for. She had been wanting to get a rise out of Harry, to show that the famous kid was nothing more than one, a kid. Meeting the strange man who became his friend reinforced that nature. It provoked him. The man's behavior reminded him of himself; of his home, the years spent in quiet, apart from mutters or murmurs. Quite frankly, it unnerved the French teen. She had expected Harry Potter to be as he was before his arrival at Number 4. From this moment onwards, she was determined to make the boy react to her. She liked them for the most part, the reactions. Ones of jealousy, of anger and longing. Potter displaying none did to her what she craved. A grimace slowly grew on her face the longer she watched his face. A grimace she hid quickly; she'd have her moment.

"Dumbledore, what is ze meaning of this?" Madame Maxime demanded as he strode in.

"When Cedric Diggory received his status as Hogwarts' Champion, another name flew out of the Goblet, the name being his." He motioned to Harry with an outstretched hand. The situation escalated immensely, and with it Fleur's feelings on the matter. An arrogant English child, already renowned for besting a dark and evil wizard, somehow fooling the age line and making himself Champion? Ludicrous! The Veela vowed, similar to Harry's vow, that she would do her utmost to show the world just what he is. "But he is a boy! Besides zat, how could he have entered ze Tournament?" she exclaimed outrageously. Karkaroff wasn't very far behind her. "Yes Albus, how did he surpass the magic of the Goblet?"

"That is something I will look into. I am confident Harry didn't enter his name. He has had enough trouble and life-threatening circumstances; why would he want more?" The Supreme Mugwump countered logically.

"Because he is egotistical! Zey brought him fame, and zat fame made him greedy for more. He wants zis, Dumbledore. It serves his agenda nicely, don't you think?" Beauxbaton's Headmistress added.

Harry, still on the floor, took this time to think. Who would put his name in the magical artifact and why? Who would want him to endure the risk of it all?

At Madame Maxime's "He wants zis, Dumbledore!" he gathered himself from the stone ground and whispered into the man's ear. "Yes, Harry, I believe that theory," The elderly wizard mused. "It would make sense. In the coming months I fear it won't be a theory at all my dear boy."

"What did he say, Albus? What did the boy tell you?" Karkaroff's questions, combined with his lightly accented voice, seemed to rouse the leader of the light out of his thoughts. "Igor, Harry has reason to believe Lord Voldemort has caused this."

Varying degrees of shock ran rampant through the small space. "No, Dumbledore, he is dead!" Durmstrang's Champion sat and offered nothing in the arguments. He reflected Harry's demeanor, not being able to decide who he should side with. Harry, who he had only known for a short time, with biased opinions against him, or his mentor and Madame Maxime. The Bulgarian took a deep breath and stated, "I don't believe Harry did it. Hogwarts' Headmaster has reason to his words," He stared the two in the face. They looked back at him, not budging an inch.

"Regardless," Fleur's exacerbated retort rang. She believed herself rather astute. In one of her confessions to her sister, Gabrielle, she said that she wanted to weed out the imbeciles from the intelligent. If one of the boys paying attention to her had something different about them, she wanted to notice. It led to her scanning through them, looking for anything unique. She glanced over at Harry and saw his short frame. "he is what? 13,14?" Dumbledore nodded. The Veela cheered inwardly. This would be her chance.

"Even if he were to enter ze Tournament, how could he participate? A boy so young would not have a chance against ze other Champions." She said, glancing at Harry, watching.

He had sunk back to his place on the floor, to all the world looking unconcerned. If you went up to someone and told them, "It's sunny." after a straight week of it being clear skies, they would be a perfect imitation. Fleur scowled. She had hoped that one of her words, if not insults, would evoke something. She refused to give up.

Harry viewed the room slowly, everyone's eyes being on him on account of Fleur. "If you'd like, we could summon our Potions master and ask for Veritaserum." he said quietly, his face blank, like a thousand-mile stare.

"No Harry, that won't be necessary," Dumbledore intervened cheerfully.

"we believe you." Everyone else, barring Viktor, was the textbook definition of unbelieving. But they didn't press. Living to Dumbledore's age in his part of the world took skill, skill they would rather not oppose.

"I still don't want to be part of this, sir,"

Harry said, his eyes flicking to the Headmasters.

"Harry, lad, if you choose not to be a Champion, you will lose your magic," Dumbledore's visage lost his smile and rosy cheeks. "I understand, sir." The Goblet, sensing that one of it's chosen had decided it wasn't going to compete, grew orange, and then, pink. Finally, the flames changed to a deep green. A deep green that a certain man with certain proficiency in a certain skill would balk at. The reason being that it could be almost _emerald_ green.

xxx

The Defense against the Dark Arts Professor sat at his desk in a terrible anger. It was the night that Potter lost his magic. The night of the day that, when he had earlier taught, saw a man dangerously close to Potter. A man that was in an invisible cloak. The cloak that James Potter had, before he died.

He almost stopped his presentation because of it. Here he sat, close to midnight, waiting for the Potter's only son to arrive. He had summoned him to his quarters. He needed to know why. Why was there a man following, almost clinging to the brat?

He heard a knock on his heavy door. He said "Come in!" before fishing around in his pocket for the silver flask. Harry went into the Professor's quarters, taking in everything. A cage was in the middle of the wall to his left, a big long yellow candle hanging from a perch overlooking it. To his left was the Professor's trunk. Harry assumed the man didn't have enough time to fully unpack his belongings, or rather didn't want to, not wanting all of his things in one place.

In front of him sat a huge desk, made of dark wood. "Oh, my bad, Potter," Moody's one eye widened as he realised, taking a quill and creating a chair from it.

The wizard-turned-squib sat down in the chair, eyeing his teacher. "What did you need, sir?"

"Has what Albus told us true, son? You lost your magic?"

Harry nodded. "Why would you do such a thing? You could've beat them at their own game, lad!" Moody outbursted suddenly. "I know sir, but if I were to do that, I'd want to do it of my own volition."

Moody''s face grew a crooked half-smile.

"Noble, Potter. I suppose it's too late now, though." He sighed and leaned back. An idea came to life in his head. He sprang up from his relaxed position. "Have you had much training?"

"Training?" Harry echoed, vacantly.

"Yes, training!" the Professor cried. "What did you think I meant, throwing a party?"

"Training in what, sir?"

"Physical training. What the muggles say, ah..." The paranoid Auror raised a hand to his forehead, throwing his other about in circles, as if it would bring him the answer. "Oh, yes. Conditioning. Ever condition yourself, Potter?"

The boy said nothing, just looked at him. "C'mon! I know you play Quidditch, so you're not just a lump."

"We have practices, sir."

"Better than nothing. Well laddie, we're gonna fix that!" he grinned mischeviously.

"Now, about my introduction in the class earlier today," Moody's grin slumped as he got serious. "I just happened to see someone tag along with you. A very tall someone, under a cloak that may or may not have belonged to a James Potter." Harry said nothing. "Care to inform me on who that might be?"

The Professor's magical eye spun, looking for the man mentioned.

"Professor Moody," Harry began.

The Auror raised a scraggly eyebrow.

"Sir," It dropped. "I met him during the summer. He was nice enough. Withdrawn, though," He added.

"So you just go around befriending older men during your summers, eh? Never thought you batted for the same team."

"It's not like that, sir," Harry protested.

Moody chuckled, drawing some of the tension out. "I'm just fooling with you, Potter. Who you have as friends are none of my business. Unless," Moody's eye landed on Harry. "They happen to be the wrong sort."

"No, sir." Harry reassured the Professor.

"He's fine in that regard."

"So then," He drank out of his flask as he continued his line of questioning. "Why is he using your cloak? Got something else to hide, lad?" Moody's human eye glanced at him.

"I couldn't leave him with my family,"

Harry croaked. "They don't take kindly to visitors. Anyways, he's not the kindest person to meet. He helped me get away from a Dementor."

"Yeah, I heard about that. Someone in the Ministry musn't like ya, Potter," Moody chuckled, no stranger to it.

"So, Mystery Man's your personal bodyguard then?" The middle-aged man paused as he readjusted his wooden leg, his hands no longer shaking. "Guess there's no problem with it. Celebrities need protection too."

Harry almost interrupted the Professor, before he realised he was right, in a sense. Strelok _ha_ _d_ guarded him. He could've did away with Malfoy before Harry gave the signal not to. He protected him from the Dementor. The man even came to Hogwarts with him. But why? Not to be alone? No, Harry shook his head. People like them liked the solitude, the quietness of it all. His friend was Russian, or at least spoke the language. What was he doing here, in the UK? Harry would have to find out. Now that he knew the language, he could use one of the spells he knew to converse with him.

"Nevertheless," Moody continued. "I'll have to run it by Dumbledore. For my apprentice, though," He smiled. "shouldn't be a problem, like I said. It's good to see someone else on their guard. Surely Albus can see that."

"Thank you, sir." Harry breathed, relief flooding through him. Though he showed nothing externally, he was afraid that something would happen.

"Not a problem, son. Just come here every..." The paranoid man sighed, thinking of empty days in his schedule. "Saturday." He looked at Harry for confirmation. "Saturday?"

Harry nodded. "Great, son. Saturday, 8 in the morning. You'll need the rest," Moody smirked.

"Have a good night then, Potter. And don't call me 'sir'. Makes me feel older already." He laughed a deep throaty belly laugh.

"Dismissed." Harry got up to leave, turning to the door.

"Oh, and Potter?"

Harry looked back. "Professor?"

Moody's face became terrible, as if he was a wave in a horrible, rolling storm.

"Keep your bodyguard with you."

Harry left the Professor's quarters, thinking on the conversation he had. Professor Moody was nice, although he was very paranoid. Harry supposed that the training sessions wouldn't be too bad, especially since the instructor would be Alastor Moody himself! Harry allowed a hint of a smile appear on his face. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad without magic. He might have a chance at the Dark Lord.

xxx

The Russian man and the old automobile had improved their bond. They enjoyed watching the stars together (at least, Streak did, the car, he couldn't really tell). When he couldn't sleep in the Exclusion Zone, or if a horrible flashback woke him up, he watched the night sky. It was a beautiful sight, and helped calm him down from reliving his past. Once, he'd even saw a shooting star! Despite his anxiety about it being an illusion, he wished upon it anyway. Not the greedy wish of most; a kindhearted one. He had wished for everyone to be happy. The Stalker waited and waited, watching it soar. Disheartened, he fell back asleep, making sure his primitive alarms were in place.

When he had awoken, he felt heavy. He soon found out it wasn't himself that was heavy. His pockets weighed him down. Reaching into them, he found many brightly colored stones. Just touching them made him the happiest he'd felt in years. He felt rejuvenated. It took him back to his childhood.

Strelok's eyes shimmered. With the morning sun creeping onto his face, warming him as he felt the sunrise, he wept. He wept a silent wept, but it was something he hadn't experienced in a long time. The feel of warm tears on his cheeks took him back, back before shutting himself off and entering the Zone. It was a crucial action; you couldn't be emotional in the Zone. Being emotional led to mistakes. Mistakes led to suffering. Fang and Ghost made mistakes and suffered. Doctor was still alive, but bid his time healing novices in the Swamps. What kind of life was that?

Remembering his wish, Strelok took one of the six stones from his worn and hole-ridden jacket. He held it carefully, with two gloved hands, afraid that if he dropped it, he'd shatter it. The color and shape reminded him of an artifact as he examined it. But he had checked them individually with the Geiger counter he had, when they first appeared.

He soon found the perversion of his wish; with the stones, others found their happiness and felt young again. He himself only felt it once. Once was enough.

"Strelok? Ford?"

The Boy-Who-Lived's quiet voice swept over the camp. Their fire had long ago burnt out. They had let it, since it went out when they slept (Strelok didn't know if the car slept, but he assumed it did when it put its windows up and turned off its headlights). He hadn't bothered trying to get it going again. The absence of light and sound worked in their favor. Who knew who could stumble upon them? It gave them a chance to get out before anything serious happened.

Fingering a bright blue rock, he got up and approached Harry.

"Yes?" He asked softly.

Using the language spell required the caster to utter a phrase in the language they seeked to temporarily learn. With a flourish and a twist, light came to his wand and he muttered, " _Ya znayu eta yazika!"_ Instantly, his wand fizzled out, and he was flung away from his wand.

He had hoped his magic would last him at least one last spell, but sadly that wasn't the case.

The teen sat up on the ground and looked up as his bodyguard came over to him. The man, like Fleur, had to learn to look for differences in an environment. Where their differences were though, was that he had learned the skill to survive. His life depended on using it, especially combing his way through anomaly fields. The smallest things came to his mind as soon as he so much as looked at them. Naturally, he saw Harry's change. Viktor, when the Bulgarian Champion had invaded his mind, left memories. Normally, a Legilimens wouldn't do that;Viktor being in the process of learning it changed that. So, the muggles had learned of the Tournament and of Harry's unwilling entry. He had learned of his friend's loss of magic. He understood his mood. After having something that was part of your life for so long be taken from you, you'd be upset. The Marked one applauded the teen in giving it up. Having to make a choice like that wasn't and isn't easy. He knew far too well himself.

So the man reached his fingers into his pocket and withdrew the bright blue stone. He gave it to Harry, after nodding to him to hold it the same way he was.

Harry accepted it, and the second he did, a small smile leapt onto his face. A smile that you would see on someone after a long life of hardship. It was a timid smile, but one that made Strelok feel warmer than being in the heart of a Burner anomaly.

The stones could only be passed on to one person from him. That way, he could make everyone happy, but everyone that he chose. Watching his face light up was wonderful for the man. It was the language they both knew and could speak to each other, without any words or phrases. The language of emotion.

Almost in a blur, Harry suddenly flew forward and into his chest, hugging him tightly. And there they stood, near the car and the burned-out fire, holding each other. Later on, they watched the sky together. That night, they both escaped their demons.

xxx

The Goblet stirred in the night. It's flames lit almost the entire hall. They held back anyone. The pompous blond in green robes, who got a terrible shock after even touching it with the intent of confusing it. The two men with silvery hair and long beards were flung back against the tables hard and revealed to be none other than two boys with red hair and stubbly chins. Under the twilight sky, it transformed. One half of the Goblet had it's flames emerald blue, the other, lava red. The Champion who attempted to forfeit _will_ compete, magic be damned.

It wasn't the Goblet of Fire for nothing!

xxx

After the announcement of Harry Potter being a Champion, the Hall erupted into yells and cries. That night, as he returned from his visit to his friend, bringing him with him, practically glowing with happiness, Harry gave the password to the Lady guarding the Tower. To his befuddlement, she denied him.

"We don't tolerate cheaters. Especially not in Gryffindor, young man. What you did goes against the entire nature of your House. You are hereby banned from Gryffindor Tower, Harry Potter!"

Harry felt his cheerfulness wear down. The stones only lasted a short while, it seemed. "I did not enter my name." He said to the portrait. In a huff, she replied, "Cheating _and_ lying? Well, I never! Go to the dungeons, where your kind belongs.

Get out of my sight, before I summon a Professor to forcefully do so!"

Harry remained. "What of my things?" he questioned, undeterred. The portrait hardened. "They will stay in the Tower."

"I see."

The Boy-Who-Lived turned on his heel and walked off, careful to avoid any teachers. He would have to stay with the car tonight.

Harry reckoned that would be good company.

He didn't return to the seventh floor for months.

xxx

He had been briefed that, as a Champion, he could skip classes. Even if he declared himself as unwilling to participate, nobody else than the others in the room knew. He could still skip. He didn't need them anyway, with no magic. Potions could still be useful, he supposed. Only for others, not him. Without a functioning magical core, they would have no effect. He would think on the subject later. For now, he needed to rest after a long day.

The following weeks, with a few visits to Moody's every Saturday, helped profusely. Strelok even taught him a few things in their camp. How to hunt, skin, even shoot. Harry ordered some from a store abroad, not concerned in the slightest about the money it would cost. He was determined to pay back his friend for sticking by him when no-one else would. With the bullets came a special kit that restored his gun to its former glory. Harry's accuracy rose to spectacular levels, and soon he could even hit targets a thousand meters away, with Strelok spotting. It took time, they had to adjust for the speed, but they managed it. They worried about the noise the shots would make, but remembered they were deep in the Forbidden Forest. Nobody would find them there. If the car lived here for so long, so could they.

Strelok learned his limits and pushed them. He geared him up with the gun and his bag, stuffing it with logs. He had Harry run in circles around the camp on his off days, until he was absolutely drenched in sweat and tired to the bone. But Harry didn't protest. He saw the benefit it made. Being able to run away, weighted or not, made the difference in living and dying. He embraced the ways of Stalking. He learned how to sneak about with hardly a sound. His friend (and newly mentor) had him cover himself in mud after a long rain and had him lay in grass. He had Harry crawl for hundreds of yards, stopping sometimes, and waiting for the wind. He went with it, when it blew the grass, he crawled with it. Soon, he became proficient. Harry learned the need for camouflage. Both physical and by other means. Masking yourself, as he knew, was a world of good. After his sessions with the DADA Professor, Harry tried to speak to his friends. He tried explaining to any Gryffindor, but to no avail. They all ignored him. In a flash, his years at the Dursley's became real again. He distanced himself even more. A few weeks after the Champions were announced, Ludo Bagman and Bartemious Crouch summoned them. Only, when they had all of them, the Goblet kept fizzing and fizzing. The Hogwarts Headmaster had an idea come to mind: bring Harry Potter.

And so they called him, as he was just about to leave to go back to the Ford's camp.

"Harry, come with me, please." The Headmaster asked.

Harry did, and they were off to the briefing room. As soon as Harry stepped in, the Goblet stopped. Fleur took note of this. Even after renouncing his magic, it still recognized him? She sat back in her chair moodily. Everytime she saw him in the castle on a Saturday, she always mocked and insulted the boy when she was certain he was within earshot. Nothing, not a word, not a glance. No retort, no emotion. It got to her, it truly did. She had half a mind to talk to the Weasley twins, to get involved with their pranks. "Hey, leetle boy. Back to play with ze big kids again?" The French girl taunted. The younger teen sat across from her ignoring her entirely, looking over at the adults conversing quietly.

"Harry, we have come to the conclusion that you are still considered a Champion of the Tournament," Dumbledore said grimly.

Harry looked at him, giving no reply.

He waited until they were told when the first Task was, and then he left. He hoped it wasn't anything _too_ hard for a Squib.


	4. Chapter 4

He was sure the other Champions had learned of the first Task, what it was. He saw Viktor sneaking glances at him when he was in the castle. His European friend never got close enough, however. He always had something in the way, be it schoolgirls, teachers, or something urgently needed by his Headmaster. Harry continued his conditioning, both with Professor Moody and Strelok.

In his opinion, neither were more important than the other. Subterfuge was important, yes, but he also desperately needed strength and stamina to make up for his loss of magic.

Strelok took over ordering things. What he thought they needed, he got, no questions asked. Harry was like clay. He was physically and mentally molded. What he had externally, he didn't internally. So, Strelok ordered medical-grade drugs. With those, he hunted animals. Animals that he made sure were shot in a bad place, or ones that he scared for a long time, having the adrenalin taint the taste of the meat. And then, he skinned them. He _accidentally_ had a sliver _just_ a little bit undercooked. For a week, he burned everything to a crisp. He had Harry eat all of it. Harry threw up the first time his tongue touched the meat. But, after a few days, he got used to the sensation. Harry understood the luxury of real, properly prepared food. He also understood the harshness of life even more so than before. Strelok put some mushrooms he had found on the Forest floor into some meat, and then gave Harry marijuana. Harry was starved so badly that he ignored the taste and texture of the food in his mouth. He just knew that it was food. Strelok remembered reading something in his youth, how Nazis gave some of their soldiers cocaine, to see if it improved performance under duress. It did, with risk to their hearts. So he had Harry march around the camp, after showing him how to make a primitive syringe, and having him inject himself. He taught Harry the usefulness of drugs. In a life or death situation, they could be the edge that enabled you the victor. He taught him all the ways of getting them into his bloodstream. He ordered a spoon, had him cook heroin on it, and inject that. Of course, he didn't do this without precautions. He always kept an eye on Harry, watching him for anything abnormal. When he was close, he made sure his pulse was steady. Strelok had Harry get used to the mood changes, to not let them influence him as much. He also taught his charge to use them on targets. Some guy, having dinner, suddenly gets up, runs around, gets himself into a frenzy, wears himself out, falls asleep on the couch. No biggie, right? Must have been the wine. Harry slips in, restricts his breathing, he dies in his sleep. Or, he could use drugs further, and _accidentally_ inject a syringe before checking it for oxygen bubbles. So he'd put that into his arm, right into a vein. Whoops! Guy has a heart attack. Or, he could make him OD, letting him die that way. Either or, the man dies in his sleep, as humanely as could be.

Strelok leaves camp sometimes. He'll come back at morning, or midnight. When he does, he shouts at Harry, wakes him in a headlock, makes noises to get him suspicious. Harry slowly builds a resistance to it. Now he sleeps like a log, always. He won't get up, period. Not if you poke him anywhere, anywhere apart from his head. The second you touch that, he's on like a switch.

From the influence of amphetamines affecting him, Harry can now march for an entire day, with pounds and pounds of gear on his back, completely sober.

His stomach accepts food, no matter the state it's in. Bugs and insects no longer bother him as he creates a makeshift ghillie suit. In fact, the bites wake him up. The pain keeps his mind alert. Strelok and Moody are proud of their apprentice, even if Moody has no idea where some of his changes come from. He shrugs it off, in the end, putting him off as an exceptional student, able to adapt wonderfully.

Harry's friends keep ignoring him, as do the members of his former House.

Strelok keeps putting him through the works. He purposely sets traps in his way during the training. It fazes Harry, of course, he's only human. But his body and mind wave it off. Harry learns how to craft the devices used against him. Strelok shows him both modern and primitive. Nothing like a tripwire attached to a flashbang canister to surprise someone, right? The Stalker sneaks off, to the borders of the Forest, and watches the students mill about. He sees their weaknesses. He shows Harry how to exploit them. He shows him everything he can in the time he has. Soon, he gives Harry a PB pistol. Camouflaged, of course. Harry carries it in a holster attached to his hip.

After a few days of being in the Forest, Harry's clothes slowly tore and ripped.

Strelok solved the problem by taking some web he found nearby. He wrapped it tightly, again and again, wounding some of Harry's original clothes in them. It takes him days, but he makes loosely-fitting clothing. Since Harry had no further use for it, he hollowed his wand. He infused it into the pistol he gave him. It replaced the barrel. Now, if someone took it, it could lose all or some of its accuracy, or jam, or even refuse to shoot altogether. The bullets shot were minutely faster than they regularly were. When Harry reloaded it, he found that the pieces of the little firearm moved faster than normal. These effects lost their potency, however, if he neglected the gun. He kept it in tip-top shape, and in doing so, kept the effects.

Harry learned when to have mercy on an opponent, and when to be brutal. He learned which situations allowed which emotions. Viktor and Fleur noticed his change. They saw him run of a mile and brush it off. They saw his determination, his efficiency. For Viktor, he was equal parts happy and worried. Happy for his friend to overcome losing his magic, and worried to face him. Fleur began to grudgingly respect the boy. That kind of drive, in anyone, friend or foe, deserved respect.

xxx

Durmstrang Headmaster Igor Karkaroff went to the bowels of his ship. He passed many students. He was looking for a specific one, his Champion. "Viktor?" He called, his deep voice rattling the ship walls.

"Yes, Headmaster Karkaroff?"

"Come with me."

And so the ex-Death Eater led his student into the Forbidden Forest. He led him across many varying trails, ones shorter and ones longer, ones zig-zagging and others straight. He led Viktor to a large clearing, where the trees didn't overshadow the ground. The moon could be seen shining brightly, reflecting off of the cut grass. There were sounds, sounds of voices, and of something moving.

The voices yelled at each other as they drew closer. Karkaroff helped him up a particularly tight bend and he gasped at what he saw.

Cages.

What were in them?

Goblins.

xxx

The Goblin Nation knew of their kind being involved in the TriWizard Tournament. They allowed it. The Goblins inside those cages were criminals. Criminals that were taught the _meaning_ of honor and went against it. They were taught once, and so they must be taught again. Right from wrong, they would learn one way or another. So when a few wizards from the Ministry went cell-to-cell, in Death Row, offering them the chance to fight 4 humans and have their names cleared, they accepted. All of them. When Madame Max I me had told her of the Task, Fleur Delacour had wilted on the spot. Goblins? They are a very fierce species, especially cornered with their lives. They knew the way to fight from birth. They were a warring and brutal kind. Defeat in their eyes was unacceptable. They were the enemy to fight to the death. Death regained their honor. Meeting their ends in battle was a great and noble thing for the Goblins. They weren't below being underhanded. They had to be, to live this long and not be snuffed out by the wizards in the Old Wars. And when the Vela beauty learned of the first Task, she paled. She felt something. Something she hadn't felt in a long, long time.

Fear.

xxx

A/N: I know some hardcore fans out there have noticed things are different. Don't spam the comments about it, please. Read the story. Strelok's appearance in the past has changed a number of things. Despite this being an AU first and foremost, that _definitely_ will change things. If you're not familiar with the character Strelok or the video game series S.T.A.L.K.E.R., Google it. There are hints and warnings in this story that will adhere to them. This is a crossover, after all.

Disclaimer : I do not own the Harry Potter series or the S.T.A.L.K.E.R. series. Use of them in a fanfiction is permitted under the Fair Use Act.

If you're wondering why I'm doing this in Chapter 4, I'm lazy, and I also lost the drafts of the initial 3 chapters. If you enjoy the story, stick around. I'll be around for a bit. I will also try to improve the chapter lengths, but no promises!

Have a good day or night, wherever and whoever you are!


	5. Chapter 5

The Ford, while out doing Merlin knows what, came back to the camp one night, beeping non-stop.

Strelok and Harry were repairing one of their huts, patching a corner of the roof that was leaky. They stopped, went over and tried to calm it down, only it would _not_ be swayed. It made both of them get in, and it drove deep into the Forest. It drove across trails, long and short, zig-zaggy and straight.

They saw the Goblins in their cages.

They reminded Harry of Imperial Japan.

They reminded Strelok of Monolithians.

They were alone, both the Goblins and the trio. The Goblins were, apart from the guard appointed over them. With a nod and a pat on the shoulder, Strelok urged Harry to silently dispatch the Wizard. Harry slowly opened the car door, careful not to let the metal creak. The car flashed its lights in good luck.

As Harry crept through the weeds, closer and closer to the Wizard having a smoke, he dragged along with him a long wire. The wire was beaten down and behaved as a long hook. It slowed him down somewhat, having to stop and pull it up slowly behind him, but he made progress. Finally a few feet behind the man, he raised it to neck level, and pulled the man back as if he were a dog misbehaving. With a choke and a gurgle, he fell onto the ground. Harry held him that way, after kicking his wand out of his hand. The man pulled at his gloved hands, pushed at his head, trying to get a punch in, to get the pressure off of his throat. But Harry, having lived with weeks of the _shit_ from Strelok, was used to it. The grabs and hits grew weaker and weaker, until the Wizard became limp in his arms. Harry dragged the Wizard behind a tree, resting him on the trunk, blocking the line of sight from the other Keepers. They knew the guards switched out every half hour, so Harry retreived the half-smoked butt from the ground and waited. He wasn't addicted to the stuff, but it sure helped on a night like this.

xxx

"Yeah okay, Cretly, you keep telling that story," The Wizard scoffed half-heartedly before getting up from the table and saying, " _Tempus._ "

The time was 12:03.

"Fuck, I've gotta go relieve Perry."

He put away his wand and buried his hands in the deep pockets from his robe as he jogged away from the table.

"Don't fall asleep, Sammy!" Cretly's voice followed from the table supplied in their tent.

"You wish, Derrick!" he yelled over his shoulder before the door between them closed.

Arriving in the field, he looked for Perry.

The only thing he found were the cages, in their neat rows like normal, and the butt of a cigarette, still smouldering in the grass.

"Fucker's gonna start a fire," Sam muttered to himself, leaning over to pick up the butt.

As his fingers reached it, he stirred an anthill. Being night, it wasn't as active as it was during the day. But it was still an anthill. With _red_ _ants._ They crept up his arm, biting him relentlessly. "Shit, shit, fuck!" the Keeper cried, trying to brush the ants off. He eventually fell over.

When he did, a small syringe pecked him on the arm as he struggled in the grass. He didn't really notice it, counting it as another bite from ants. It happened quick as a flash, and soon, Sam Daxley, Keeper of the Goblins, was hopped up.

xxx

"Hey there, Sammy, something happen?" Derrick Cretly anxiously asked. He saw his friend / drinking buddy round the bend before going to the cages, and him back, not 5 minutes later, was reason to be worried.

He was getting up from the table, having cleared it from their game of Exploding Snap and coffee. As he went past the entrance to the tent, he saw the flicker of a shadow pass, so he stopped and looked. What he saw horrified him.

"Hey, Derrick! Ready to try and bullshit again?" Sam's cheery voice laughed as he got closer to the tent, ants all over him. He was covered in bites. He coughed and sneezed on the way as they even got into his mouth and nose.

The young Keeper didn't seem the least bit concerned with what was happening. He didn't even really seem to see the ants, or feel them.

"S-Sam, don't come any closer!" Cretly's voice broke the air suddenly. Frankly, seeing your friend act like that with _hundreds_ of insects on him scared the daylights out of Derrick.

"Why mate, what's wrong?" Sam's voice had a note of confusion in it, his face screwing up as he wondered what was wrong.

"Yo-You have ants all the _fuck_ over you, that's what wrong, Sam!"

Sam looked down at his chest and at his arms and legs. He brushed them off and looked back up at his friend, who only became more frenzied and scared when the ants reappeared.

"There, all gone!" The Keeper laughed, his eyes crinkling in mirth.

"Sam, please. I'm warning you, stay the _fuck_ back!"

"Cretly, you're starting to piss me off. I got the ants, they're all gone. Let's just relax." Irritation wove its way into Daxley's energetic voice.

He got closer to the tent. Derrick's wand hand shook. He stepped closer, and closer, the light from the lantern Perry left behind on watch blocked by his frame, casting a shadow on the tent.

"I-isn't it your turn to watch, or _something_ , Sammy?!" Derrick howled desperately at his friend. He realised something was affecting his friend's mind.

"No, Perry's fine doing it. He just went off for a smoke. No biggies, man."

He waved off Derrick's question, walking closer.

Derrick yelled something, only for Sam to pick an ant out of his ear. "Hmm, must have been a leaf or something," He murmured obliviously.

"Sorry, what did you say?" Daxley yelled back.

"Sam, this is your last warning. _Stay back!_ "

Sam drew his wand, stumbling from his legs getting weak due to the many bites covering their surfaces. "Goddamnit, Derrick. Everything is _fine._ I got the damn ants, Perry's watching the Goblins. Why are you so-" The Keeper paused, his vocal cords stuck on the "o". Sam Daxley swallowed, hard. He steadied himself.

Doing a double take, he readjusted his shirt and pants, ready to take the next step toward his friend. But his next step turned into a stumble, and that stumble turned into a fall. Sam Daxley fell, never to get back up.

"Oh, God! What the fuck happened, Sam?!" Cretly's voice asked, scared for his life. He didn't know his friend had died, that his heart stopped.

"Sam?" Derrick came out of the tent, his wand on his partner's unmoving body.

"Sam, if this is a joke, I swear to Merlin I'll-" A pistol had come up behind him during his monologue. It shot one bullet, straight into his ear. Derrick Cretly fell onto the corpse of Sam Daxley, and soon his body was covered with ants excited for their new meal.

xxx

Perry the Keeper woke, his head dragging across the rough trunk. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. Sucessfully getting the spots out of his vision, he stood up, rather subdued, and wandered back to the tent to tell the other Keepers that something was wrong. But he saw someone illuminated in the dark by his lantern. Someone covered in mud and leaves, with a pistol in his hand. But, as soon as he walked unsteadily over, a single 7.62x54 Rimmed bullet found its way into his skull.

As soon as he walked unsteadily over, Perry the Keeper died.

xxx

Harry, Strelok, and the car regrouped near the cages, the Goblins hissing quietly inside. After a nod and a honk, they removed the cover around one of the cages. The Goblins inside immediately swarmed to the outsiders, angry, like an anthill. Nobody knew Gobbledegook, so they made a truce by items. When Harry choked Perry out, he went through his pockets, finding anything of significance. In doing so, he found jewelry. Goblin jewelry. It was a golden ring, with a perfect diamond on top. It was still held in the box it came in.

Harry presented it to the Goblins, and bowed as he walked back, his eyes never leaving them. A Goblin came forward and snatched it out of his hand. They all crowded around it and spoke in their harsh language. After a few minutes, they all nodded at Harry. Strelok opened the cages, and together the trio and the Goblins signaled to the rest of the captured ones that a truce was made.

Harry, Strelok, and the Ford Anglia crept off into the Forest, the Goblins hot on their heels.

xxx

In an office, far away, a higher-up received a message via Patronus. The search parties found the Keepers, dead. And the cages were empty. He knew it wasn't a good idea to only have _3_ men, he _knew_ it. But no, nobody listened to him. Nobody ever did. And now, the Goblins escaped, and they were short 3 men. He understood that the low number was because the cages were more than capable of holding prisoners. Apparently not, it seemed.

The balding man pounded his desk and ordered another round of Goblins. The Goblin Nation was more than happy to provide them, so long as palms were greased.

xxx

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, reviewing paperwork Minerva forwarded to him. As her job, she approved most of it that came her way, and then sent it on to him for a look-over.

His fireplace shook, and soon, green flames sprung from nowhere.

Cornelius Fudge's head appeared, angry. **"Albus, we have a situation."**

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, smiling serenely. "What is it, Cornelius?" He asked jovially.

" **The Goblins escaped."**

His features grew serious in an instant.

"What?"

xxx

Fleur was laying in her bed, reading a book. She loved to read, especially when she couldn't sleep. It was a great hobby to take up time.

"Fleur?" One of her classmates knocked on her door. "Madame Maxime needs you." She said, her voice tainted with jealousy and envy.

Fleur grinned. She enjoyed the effect she had on the girls in her year. It was payback, she reckoned, after the years of mocking.

She left and went to meet her Headmistress, in her own Chariot a few minutes away.

"Yes, Madame?"

The lovely girl asked.

Her Headmistress sighed and beckoned her over.

"The Goblins escaped, my dear."

Fleur gasped and became pale.

xxx

Igor Karkaroff paced in his quarters, in a fury. He summoned one of his students he knew that slept close by.

A knock on his door interrupted him mid-pace.

"Yes, sir?"

Karkaroff's face grew putrid.

"Get Krum." He spat at the young pupil.

"Y-yes, sir." The boy closed the door slowly and began to walk away.

"Now!" The Durmstrang Headmaster bellowed. The footsteps became quicker, and soon, he heard nothing.

Minutes later, he heard a strong knock.

"Come in."

Viktor Krum strode in, visibly worried.

"What do you need, sir?"

"What do I need?" Karkaroff laughed cruelly.

He stopped suddenly.

"Where have you been, boy?"

Viktor sank into his seat.

"I was just-"

"Ah, forget it."

Karkaroff got up and walked over to Krum. He gripped him by the shoulders and looked into his eyes deeply.

"Viktor, the Goblins are gone!"

Krum paled and beads of sweat broke on his brow.

"S-sir-"

"No!" Karkaroff didn't let him finish. He grabbed a vase and threw it at the ship's hull, missing Viktor's head by an inch.

Viktor gulped.

xxx

The escape went well. The trio gave the Goblins some of their food and supplies, and in return, the Goblins left some of their own to stay.

After much bowing from both sides, and a cackling from one, they split apart.

Strelok removed the weapons from a few of the Goblins. Of course, he didn't actually remove them; that's insanely rude to a Goblin. He held it from the Goblin for a few seconds, and handed him a metal spatula. The Goblin understood, and after much bowing, and a bribe of 'shrooms, he went on his way. Strelok would have to properly teach the Goblin to cook most of the _local delicacies_ , but he was sure it would excel. Another guard became a sewer; another, they built a tree-house for. Having altitude over your enemy is important, especially when they have ranged weapons.

Strelok had to think on this. He would consult Harry, and together they would think of more positions to have the Goblins fill.

The rogue Colony that left them would definitely ask for a status report here and then, that was a given. So, they were kept fed and watered, and had beds made for them. Promises were given that they would find riches on their next hunt, through wildly gesturing charades.

The trio and their goblin muscle became allies.

They knew one thing for certain: the Goblin escape had postponed the first Task. For how long, they weren't sure. But it most definitely gave them more time to prepare. Strelok could even try to put one of the Goblins through his programme, if he was nice.The aged Stalker blew out the candle near his bed and laid down to sleep.

For better or worse, tomorrow would bring better things.


	6. Chapter 6

Life in the camp was pretty normal. A few days after helping the Goblins, the ones they left behind got comfortable in their new home. A tense moment around noon led to one of them challenging Strelok to a game of blackjack. Eventually, the other members of the camp joined in, and now the original Goblin started to get angry at the Anglia.

Hissing at it in their horrible language, he threw his cards at it after losing.

The car agitatedly flicked its windshield wipers in response. They even placed bets, though none that dealt with money, to the Goblins' disappointment. The cards were the kind for people with low vision. They had got those specifically for the Goblins, but not out of jest as it was initally received.

The gaunt man got a few compliments on the car when he parked it, ready to head into the store. When they returned, the Ford drove circles around the camp, delighted after it. Arthur Weasley only used it to go to work, so living with the family was a very dull time in the automobiles life.

That night, with the car helping them from being there for so long, they all got together and fashioned a crude map of the Forest.

They weren't so far in that they intruded on the spiders, only just on the border, hence the Stalker finding web to make clothes. Before he left, he dug through his pockets, looking for an offering. A normal person wouldn't take things and then trade for them. But living in the Exclusion Zone had warped Strelok's mind. He was used to bartering for what he needed, and making sure both parties were satisfied. It made no difference here, even if it was a creature and not a human. The spiders would still appreciate the finely cooked meat he left in place. After some discussion (and arguments), the Anglia took two of the Goblin guards back to the Keeper camp, to search the Forest for any others nearby. They would've sent more, but the Colony only gave them five.

Going into the hut opposite his, the Marked one looked upon the sewer's work, and nodded. Items may have switched hands, and a little less bowing was needed, but soon he requisitioned the sewer to fashion pathways through the camp.

xxx

The time between Harry's visits gave Viktor Krum a lot to think about. Where did he go for so long? Why hadn't they talked? What happened to Harry?

The next Saturday he came to the castle, he cornered him. "Where have you been, Harry?" ' _And what have you seen?'_ flashed through his mind but he paid it no heed. The Chosen one ran his hand through his hair and shrugged his shoulders as he looked up at the slightly taller Champion. "Busy," He replied after a small standstill.

"Why don't you come around more often?" Viktor asked, a little exasperated.

He, better than anyone, knew people had their secrets, so he accepted the one-word answer without hesitation. It was one he used in the past after all, to get away from pesky reporters. "Mister Krum, Mister Krum!" They would clamor. "How did it feel in your match on Friday?" It felt like it did any other time, adrenalin-filled. Shaking his head to rid them of the bad memories, he focused on the Boy-Who-Lived. "I got kicked out of my own House, for being labeled a cheater and a liar," Harry blinked.

"Why would I stay any longer? I have no magic, and that's what this school is about, Vik."

The Bulgarian sighed. "There are alternatives." He said, laying a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"What alternatives?" The Squib-Champion asked as he began to leave.

"What happened to your friend?" Krum asked as Harry turned. "He's gone."

He almost left the school entirely before the heavy accented voice softly protested behind him. "We're friends, Harry."

He stopped in his tracks, gulped, and turned around. That comment got to him more than it should have. Maybe living in silence for so long got to him more than it should have. Harry pulled his bag back onto his shoulder when it started to slide off from the action. Looking his friend in the eye, he countered. "A Pureblood, friends with a Squib?" He chuckled darkly. The dark corridor became silent. Silent like No. 4. Silent like the Exclusion Zone.

Silent like Harry.

With that parting remark, he turned his back on the Durmstrang student. Though his footsteps were heavy, they hardly made a sound.

xxx

Draco checked all of his things, making sure they were ready. He lost his chance to duel Potter when the Goblet rejected him. He reminded himself to write a letter to Father suggesting that the artifact couldn't be allowed in a school full of _children._ 'Think of the children!' He thought mockingly to himself with a laugh. So, Potter was now a Squib, eh? Time to put the rumours to the test. The Malfoy heir crept out of the dungeons, being sure to wait several minutes before continuing. He saw enough to know where Potter went. With a simple " _Point me!"_ , he was on his way into the Forbidden Forest.

xxx

Fleur Delacour had had a lot of time to think about the spoiled boy from Britain. So much time, in fact, that she devised a number of plans. Plans that would make the Potter kid realise who he fucked with. Plans to make him notice.

Sitting on her bed, in the magically enlarged chariot, she gave herself a once-over in the mirror, just to be safe. Black clothes that clung to her body almost skintight, a stasis spell to keep her hair from getting caught on something, another spell to dye it black, and a _"Muffliato!"_ to silence her shoes.

The spells wouldn't hold for long, she knew, so she rushed.

Waiting until everyone else slept, she walked out of Beauxbatons territory, and followed Harry into where she had seen him go earlier that day.

The Forbidden Forest.

xxx

The trio almost had half of the camp done by that night. The Ford helped immensely by driving on the rough paths they crafted, and helped to smooth them over. Driving around in a forest is bound to give you a flat tire at some point, but the antique muggle machine kept itself in check. As they were finishing up a road leading to a mostly finished house with medical supplies, a light shone faintly behind them, reflecting off of the glossy leaves around them.

Instantly, their metal companion turned off its engine, and Harry sprinted back to the place they kept their weapons.

Strelok jogged to the various Goblins, at each post making the signal to stay down and quiet. He climbed the ladder to the tree-house post and looked for the source of the light. It was early in the night, so it definitely wasn't the sun rising. The Goblin beside him checked the ammunition in his jungle-themed M12. They had a few problems starting out with the scopes and their incompatibility with Goblin retinas, so Harry, being almost a veteran at that point in the subject, asked "Can you see now?" He'd twist the scope. "How about now?" The Goblins would shake their heads. Only when it was upside down did they realise the Goblins could see perfectly.

It was a challenge teaching them to shoot that way, but they accomplished it. And so the Goblin stood in his watchtower / tree-house, zeroing his sights onto the pathetic looking boy coming towards them. Goblins had no bias towards Wizarding folk. They didn't care how old they were or how injured or sick they were. They cared about revenge. For some Goblins, simply tending (and swiping) their gold wasn't enough. And that was how this Goblin ended up in a camp, in the dead of night, watching a boy as he stumbled through the foliage, his crosshairs directly on his head.

xxx

With more than a few grumbles, Draco Malfoy found his way through the Forest.

Fleur Delacour tailed the heir, having seen him stride confidently into the brush moments before her, and that was how he became her unwilling Guinea pig, testing the waters of the Forbidden Forest. She kept her distance in case anything happened obviously, but didn't stray too far.

To Malfoy's confusion and later anger, his spell started to malfunction. After a re-cast, it was still in the same direction, behind him. So, he turned around. The spell led him in the direction opposite his turn now, to the camp.

He turned back around and walked, following it. After a few seconds, it turned again. Stopping in his frustration, Draco slapped his wand. "Work!" He commanded to it, giving up on the compass spell for the moment. As he did, letting his guard down, something suddenly swept him off his feet. Looking around him, he discovered a long rope.

"Bugger! That disgusting, fat oaf and his traps!" Draco muttered, referring to Hagrid. He removed the rope and stood up again.

Casting the location spell again, Malfoy became anxious when it began moving in circles around him, not stopping for anything. His eyes grew wide and he looked around him, hoping nothing would come out of the trees and attack him.

A girl's voice called out in the Forest, one he didn't know. It sounded deeply sad and troubled. "Why?" Why what? Draco asked internally. " _Draco_ , why?" He froze. When they said his name, the voice changed. " _Draco,_ please. Don't do it. I'm so sorry!" The lady begged, her voice distorting differently everytime she said his name.

"Don't do what?" Malfoy timidly answered. The sobbing came closer to him. He backed away, but they were all around him.

"Don't!" It shrieked back. He tried talking to the girl, but she didn't answer after that. She just weeped, louder and louder, echoing through the trees.

It unnerved Draco. Why would someone be in the Forest with him, begging him not to do something? What happened? He took a step forward. The girl screeched, as if in terrible pain.

He took his foot back. She stopped.

From this day on, Draco swore never to come to the Forbidden Forest at night.

Retreating, he ran, The voice crying it with every step he took.

Fleur Delacour saw all of this, and wasn't scared off like the boy she followed. She saw it for what it was, a trick, though it did frighten her a little. She left, and thought on it all the while. So, Potter liked tricks? She had tricks of her own.

The next generation of the Malfoys ran back to the dungeons, to his room. He hid in it, blocking the door. The voice, though he didn't hear it any longer, stayed in his head.

He slept fitfully that night, having nightmares any time he fell asleep. They were about him cursing someone. A faceless, skinless someone, who cried everytime he leveled his wand at her.

xxx

As the boy left, Strelok and Harry went around the area where they set up the radios, disabling them. Harry had had to do a bit of cutting and mixing in the audio tracks to include his name, but he thought he pulled it off successfully, judging by the Malfoy running off. He wouldn't be coming back anytime soon.

The next day, they all prepared to attack in force. Another settlement _was_ nearby the first one, as the Ford had found out, flying above. It would take time, but time was what they had an abundance of. Meeting with each Goblin individually, the Stalker made sure they all had a satisfactory amount of drugs, lethal, and unlethal weapons with them.

After the check, they all set out, Harry and Strelok in the car, aiming their firearms ahead of it, through the windows. The Goblins walked next to them, all scowling. They kept the march at a light pace to keep their energy up. They would need it at this new breakout.

xxx

Since the failure, anytime a guard had a break, they were always surrounded by other guards. Everyone kept an eye on each other. It wouldn't be good to lose more than they already have.

Despite the focus on security, it didn't keep the Keepers from being cheerful.

They joked with each other and played games on their down time, occasionally delivering reprimands to the Goblins inside the reinforced cages.

This only increased the bloodlust of the imprisoned creatures. Spitting and growling, they threw themselves against the cage walls, only to be given nasty burns when they touched them.

Several of them died within the first week trying to put a dent in the walls.

When one of the Keepers slipped a ring their way and continued on to the others, they understandably wondered why.

Strelok, undercover as a Keeper, had disguised himself as one using a uniform left behind from the lasy raid.

With this disguise, he planted C4 under some of the tables when the others looked away. He had all of them covered, except for two out of range.

He frowned, rarely doing so, and nonchalantly flexed his hand on the table surface, acting as if he were stretching it. His index and middle finger haplened to be pointing at the two out of the explosion radius. Looking up at the trees, he got a thumbs-up.

Taking that as his signal to leave, he did, pretending to go off to relieve himself.

Five minutes later, everything went to Hell.

The men looking over the cages were blown apart. Limbs were everywhere. Some of them were still alive, crawling and writhing on the ground, their intestines spilling out. One of them started having a seizure, as shrapnel had pierced their skull and ruptured a center of the brain.

Strelok, Harry, and the Ford, along with the Goblins, assaulted the place; although, assault wouldn't be the correct term for the way they brutally did so. The Goblins, relishing the chance for revenge at their former captors, unleashed a total blitzkrieg. They overturned any and all bodies that weren't face-up. The warmongering species didn't bother to check if they were conscious or breathing. It took them a half hour to assemble the unprotected Wizards in a line. They bound their hands with ropes that tore into their skin.

They forced them onto their knees. If they didn't have ones to sit on, the horrible creatures arranged them in a position so that they laid their heads against the wall in a slumped position. One ran along them all, checking to be sure they all lined up correctly. As he straightened and turned to give a thumbs-up to the Goblin holding a flame-thrower, a Keeper stopped him, accidentally spraying blood on him as he spoke.

"Please, we treated them well," He begged. The others protested with him, trying to escape with their lives. Seeing the Goblin not understand / ignore him, he panicked and turned to the humans nearby. "Don't you understand?" He cried and shook his bonds. A silver cross hung from his neck, almost submerged in dirt and blood, the two mixing together on it as it twirled in the air.

The Boy-Who-Lived holstered his pistol and came up to the man. The action quieted the other Keepers in the line. He crouched down into a squatting position and seemed to analyze the guard's face. The man with greying hair pleaded. "Have mercy, please! It's a miracle we're still alive!"

"What is your name?" The boy asked calmly. "John," The salt and pepper haired man replied, getting ahold of himself at the other's tone.

"John, what is it you want me to do? You want me to take you out of here? Just let you run away, see how far you can get?" Harry questioned. The Goblin with the flame-thrower started getting impatient and launched a burst of fire into the air, heating those around him faintly. He grinned a horrifying grin, half of his face paralyzed.

The Keeper who begged and pleaded for his life got to his position by being smart. He thought on his feet; that kind of critical thinking rose him through the chain of command quickly. Naturally, he saw the malady that would become if he tried running from a pack of Goblins.

He sat back on his legs, his knees digging into the grass. The old man took a deep breath and sighed. Running, at his age, with his leg? He scoffed.

"Why would you do such a foolish thing?" A sense of bravado filled him as he came to realise the situation. Harry fell back from his squat and laid in the remaining grass left untouched by the explosions. He stared at the passing clouds and replied, "On the day of my judgment, when I stand before God, and he asks me why, why did I kill one of his true miracles..." He breathed, hardly able to finish. He sat up and caressed the man's cheek as he looked into his eyes.

"What am I going to say? That it was my job? It was my job." The old man picked up on his quoting, and at once his eyes shimmered as he remembered.

Everything became silent. The atmosphere grew heavy in a matter of seconds, despite the sunny day.

John shuffled, trying to get his stub of a leg comfortable. "You tell God, the Father, it was a kindness you did."

His eyes turned into waterfalls, and the Saviour-turned-Squib cut the ropes holding him, careless of the man's crying wetting his hand. John's hand held onto his.

"I know you're hurting and worrying," he began, his words filling the prison camp.

"But you ought to quit on it now. I want it to be over and done with. I'm tired, Harry."

Harry was inwardly shocked. He covered his scar thoroughly before they began. He wondered how John knew. Harry planned to ask Strelok for a mask afterwards.

"Mostly, I'm tired of people being ugly to each other. I'm tired of the pain I feel and hear in the world everyday."

The weathered Keeper stood as best as he could on one leg, as tall as he could.

Breathing out, he continued. "It's like pieces of glass in my head, all the time. Can you understand?"

The boy before him looked distraught, his eyes the ones of one that had seen far too much. They shined brightly.

"Yes John, I think I can."

They both wept soundlessly.

A Goblin with a vacant look in his eyes interrupted them.

He saw many things in his life as a criminal; he too, knew that the world wasn't black and white. Even if the Keeper held him, he understood his reasons. As a criminal, he did jobs he didn't want to, but ones he did for the sake of his family. Though they eventually disowned and casted him out, he still sent them gold from time to time, making sure they had enough to last. He respected this elderly human, for much the same reasons he despised himself. The Goblin left after observing the guard and went around to keep the young, hot-blooded of his kind in order.

John shook his head, bracing on the wall, letting it hold him up.

"I wish things were different, Harry."

"We all do, John."

Those were the last words they spoke together.

xxx

The company ordering the Goblins and paying the Keepers took the extra mile in their precautions. Although Harry and his muscle were efficient in taking down the second holding facility, silent alarms still went off, alerting the director instantly.

Madame Maxime and Igor Karkaroff became privy to the knowledge of the Goblin camps through a proxy, that proxy being Ludo Bagman. Ludo Bagman did many things before helping Crouch Sr. host the tournament. So, as he was retiring for the night, he accidentally dropped very important documents from his robe pockets, documents that may or may not have had a monetary incentive. Regardless, the competing Headmaster and Headmistress now knew the sensitive information that was to be the first Task. When the second camp was attacked, they also knew. They sent Krum and Delacour, both unaware of the other. When they ran into each other, trying to infiltrate, the two Champions were surprised.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Fleur jabbed at the professional Quidditch player.

"What are you doing here?" He responded.

Neither of them wanted to fight in a circumstance like this. It wouldn't end well, especially being so close to the camp they weren't supposed to know about.

"We didn't see each other." Krum said with a tone of finality.

Fleur nodded, and they went their separate ways.

Their impromptu conversation stopped them from finding any intruders.

As they talked, the last of the Goblins were rounded up and disappeared into the trees.

The Keepers they held had a similar fate to the Goblins. The guards didn't get to leave, though.

Strelok disapproved of the barbeque. He didn't say anything, he never did, but some things were just too much.

He understood vengeance, but next time the Marked one would have a firmer hand.

What the Champions reported to their school heads, they didn't believe.

xxx

Dumbledore was worried about James and Lily's orphaned son. He only saw him in the castle on Saturdays, early in the morning. Dumbledore knew the pain Harry was experiencing. In his youth, he sulked and was mad at the world for a long, long time for what happened to his sister. Albus also knew it wasn't good not to talk to someone, to let your feelings out. What he didn't know was that Harry lived his life not talking to anyone, except when necessary. He didn't know it was normal for Harry. He resolved to speak with the lad next Saturday. After all, it wasn't that far away, just a couple of days. Albus Dumbledore had waited longer for simpler things, he could wait for this.

xxx

The next time Harry Potter came to Hogwarts, he had a bag flung over his head. Before he could defend himself from whoever had done so, he was the victim of a well-placed Stunner.

Harry never remembered his dreams. He always woke in a cold sweat when he had nightmares. He never knew why. He knew he had a bad dream, yes, but not the contents of said dream. The young Wizard without magic tossed and turned in his sleep. Being Stunned gave you a weird experience. Being in a deep pit of blackness, as if nothing ever existed, or will. The sensation was like being an Astronaut, weightless, floating in the vacuum of space. It was almost exactly like that, but you felt and saw absolutely nothing. No stars, no planets, no meteors. Blackness. It was always what Harry saw. Sometimes it was relaxing, calming. Other times, frightening him profusely. The strength of the Stunner determined the emotion experienced by the victim.

Then, as he floated, a distant light appeared. Was it a meteor? Harry couldn't tell. He couldn't squint to check. It grew closer. Harry felt warm. Not his body, no. Everything around him felt warm, though. It wasn't a meteor, Harry deduced, as it approached.

It was a star.

Noises came with the star. He didn't know what they said.

They repeated themselves, more and more frantically.

He finally made out what they were saying.

"-ter! Potter?"

My name?

And the star blinded him.

And he woke up.

xxx

Coughing, the boy rose out of his hospital bed.

The voice greeted him.

"That was a particularly strong Stunner you received, Mr. Potter." The nurse sat on his bed, careful to avoid his extremities.

"Ohh, what happened?" Harry half-asked, half-croaked.

"Well, Mr. Potter, it seems you were apprehended by a trio of Gryffindors." Nurse Pomfrey informed him, her voice grating.

"No, wait, please. Lower your voice," He requested of the nurse.

"Who were they, Poppy?" he whispered, not fully recovered or woken up.

She obliged both his question of her volume and the identity of his attackers.

"I won't name names, but a few males of your former House, sharing the qualities of red hair and explosive tempers. Not to mention, Gryffindor isn't the only House they share together,"

The Squib sat up with a flash. He should have known. Ron _always_ got jealous of Harry. He usually apologized and they restored their friendship. Not this time, it seemed. So he roped his brothers into it too. That was new, he mused. He and the Twins were on good terms. He supposed 'were' applied now more than ever.

Swallowing a potion offered by the gentle Nurse, he stayed in the Hospital Wing, enjoying food that came with sides for once.

xxx

Dumbledore paid Harry a visit a few hours later. He asked after the boy, and wondered how he was. Harry responded in kind and told him truthfully.

After some small talk, Dumbledore cut to the chase. He wasn't much for small talk.

"Harry, where do you go when the day of the week doesn't happen to be Saturday?" The Supreme Mugwump said softly.

Harry decided not to tell him everything. Telling his Headmaster that he postponed the first Task, twice no less, wouldn't bode well. "Sir, I went for a walk one day," He began.

"And," he motioned to a nearby window, the Forbidden Forest able to be seen from it.

"I met Ron's old car again." He swallowed.

"Oh!" Albus smiled. "So you caught up with it?" He waited patiently, sitting in a chair he took from nearby another bed. "Precisely, sir." Harry beamed weakly. This was easier than he thought.

"It took me to where it stayed. This was before I lost my magic though, but one thing led to another," He frowned, looking at the Headmaster's starry robes, them reminding him of something.

"I got kicked out of Gryffindor Tower, as you undoubtedly know," He beckoned to the old Professor, listening cheerfully.

"And so I went with the car." Harry finished glumly, wondering what would happen.

"Ah, I see. That's wonderful, dear boy," Dumbledore replied in earnest.

"I got worried about you, you having been away for so long." He got up from his seat and got ready to leave the Wing.

"I've been hearing all sorts of rumours of attacks being made. Ah!" The Headmaster sprung around suddenly, an index finger in the air. "Speaking of attacks, the Weasley boys were apprehended shortly after. That was how you came to be here, Harry."

Removing his hand from the air and resting it on his chin, Albus thought aloud. "Strong Stunner the one had, though."

Harry was relieved that they were taken care of. He knew what revenge led to, and the feelings it evoked. The boy had no intention of turning into the Wizard he was sought to destroy.

"Thank you, Professor. I hoped that I didn't have to take things into my own hands, and I'm glad my hope wasn't misplaced,"

"The world has become sad, for one so young to feel the need to do so," Dumbledore said, his face now mirthless. "I suppose things are not always as they seem."

Harry imperceptibly shrunk in his bed at that statement.

"Well goodnight, Harry. Rest assured, tomorrow is a new dawn." The Headmaster left, his pupil echoing the farewell.

xxx

That night, Fleur Delacour came into the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts. She heard about the scuffle earlier that day, that Potter was hospitalised. She grinned. Tonight was perfect. Harry Potter couldn't play his mind games, or hide in leaves. He was exposed here.

Seeing Harry in his bed, sleeping roughly, she frowned and revealed herself, becoming visible again. He was muttering something in his sleep.

Harry wasn't the kind of person to talk in his sleep. Sleeping like a log only proved that more. Somehow, the faithful Hogwarts Nurse had her potions work on him. He didn't know how. He didn't want to, either. They stopped him from waking up in a sweat. That was all the boy cared about.

Fleur tip-toed closer, straining her ears.

He said things like "It never had to be this way, Ron." and "I wish things were different." The French Champion thought, putting it off to be a spat with his friend. The boy was spoiled, that was certain, but some things he said seemed beyond him. She had had enough. She shook the brat, hard.

He awoke with a start, panicking. But he saw her and calmed down.

"Why are you here, Fleur?" His soft spoken voice asked her. His voice wasn't a voice from one that got his way. He didn't sound pampered. He sounded old and weary. It prompted her to answer, though not truthfully. "I wanted to see how ze famous boy Harry Potter fared, after being taken down with a single hex." Her words dug into him. Harry sighed and closed his eyes. He opened them again after a moment and looked at her. "Reach into my pocket, Fleur." He motioned to a pocket on his robe, half of it hanging off of the mattress. "Reach into your pocket?" She replied angrily. Did the boy think she was stupid? He could have something that hurt or worse, crippled her in there. Something Dark. "I know how it sounds, but please," He glanced from the floor to her slowly. "I can't touch it myself."

"Because it is Dark!" She said in an instant. He shook his head and laid back. "I don't understand why you hate and distrust me. We haven't even properly met yet," He drawled, the effects of the sleeping potion slurring his speech. "You are spoiled, zat is why! You get everything handed to you!" Her increasingly mad retorts reverberate in the empty Hospital Wing.

"Okay, fine." Harry conceded. He knew he wasn't getting through to her.

"I get everything handed to me. Let me hand something to you." He tried, one last time. His eyes fell upon her, and once they did with the way they looked, she gave in.

"If something happens to me, my parents will execute you personally!" She threatened.

Harry looked at her, blankly and withdrawn. He pointed half-heartedly to the side of the bed. With a huff, she tore into his pocket, and touched a bright blue ball.

They had found some work-arounds with the stone that night, as Harry discovered. Strelok passed it on to Harry. Knly one person could give it to someone, Strelok. Now it was in Harry's possession. Fleur took it from him, with no offering on his part. It never crossed between hands after Strelok and Harry. It never could. That didn't matter now. Harry had his moment that Strelok had had with him. He saw the Veela's face go from being angry to relaxed, and then happy, in a second. The stress creases dropped from her forehead. She held the stone against her chest, almost hugging it. They stayed that way for a while.

"Why?" She asked, her voice unable to hold. "Why would you give me this?" She cried, a lone tear escaping down her face.

Harry smiled, feeling warm. "I just wanted to hand someone what was handed to me." His cheeriness that appeared out of nowhere convinced Fleur that the stone was a trick.

With a grimace, Fleur lost her happiness. "What are you pulling this time, Potter?" The girl growled. "I'm not pulling anything, Delacour." He shot back. She brought her arms above her head, and with a mighty throw, sent the bright blue stone straight into the Hospital Wing floor. Harry said nothing, he only watched her, as if he was curious. The gaze he had was like a scientist in a lab, observing an experiment. The Beauxbatons representative vanished the shards of the rock and then herself. Fleur left the Wing, never saying another word.

xxx

Strelok was there; he saw everything. He felt his apprentice needed protection, in a place where he was severely outnumbered. So he followed him like always. The Russian had to get creative. He had to lay in the supply cart for a few hours, to avoid detection. He had to dodge from almost being seen by the Nurse a handful of times. He had half a mind to stop the girl, after seeing her hoist one of his rocks above her head. But he didn't. He let things go their natural course. Some things were meant to be disrupted, and others were not. He replayed it in his head, her breaking the rock. It saddened him, to see something that caused pure happiness be destroyed. But he had 3 others. 3 that he intended to protect.

He hoped Harry would do the same with his remaining two.


	7. Chapter 7

He woke up randomly. It always happened. He was too jumpy in his early days of Stalking, and as a result it made his sleep patterns finicky. Every morning, near dawn, the Marked one would play with the antenna on his radio, flicking the dials on it back and forth, looking for a signal. He picked up signals. That was almost a certainty. But he was looking for special signals, ones usually distorted or unusual. A few times in the Zone, the man even had to decode broadcasts from number stations. The stations didn't stay up long, they never did. Something happens to them, mid-broadcast, and they never come on the air again. It didn't really matter what happened to the stations; their owners got the message out and left before they were tracked down. By the time the towers were destroyed, the information had already gone out, and Strelok was on his way to meet Barkeep in Rostok.

He still looked for them. He always will. Maybe it was leftover from his brainwashing, but the man kept to his routine. After about an hour of going through both AM and FM, he pressed the 'OFF' switch on the device. Around now was when the Goblin Colony sent their weekly messenger. He met up with the Russian first, as a matter of business, and then checked individually with each Goblin. Afterwards, they shared whiskey. The kind that burned your throat and left your stomach in a pleasant glow. It also happened to be the kind they had found from the holding camps.

During their time together, the kind old Goblin shared stories in his garbled tongue. It was evident from the way he'd wave his short arms and change his voice. Strelok never understood it, but he listened, hinting a smile at the right moments and a frown at the wrong moments. He looked forward to its visit. He learned what the Goblin called itself during one of them. In their tongue, he was known as a bunch of symbols and sounds humans could never replicate. In short, everyone called him Torch. And Torch the Goblin was pleasant. It was definitely something else, to see a kind and happy Goblin like him. He was always bumbling about and saying something. He reminded him of a worker bee.

When the pack merged with the Colony, they rejoiced at seeing their brothers. And Torch was the happiest he'd been in a long time. He brought another, younger Goblin with him. Strelok learned that the young Goblin was his grandson. He acted like his grandfather, too. Together, the two could bring up anyone's spirits. When the car worked itself up, they were there to somehow calm it down. One time, they even managed to make it shoot wiper fluid!

When it wasn't having a tantrum or being reassured, the Ford was gathering intel. Hiding as a regular car on the side of a street, it listened in and heard a great many things, snagged a few papers, then snuck off and flew back.

The car went through the trouble of getting the old messenger Goblin to translate using magic during a checkup.

That was how Strelok discovered that Ludo Bagman and Bartemius Crouch weren't taking chances. They stopped contact with the shady company that bought and held Goblins, and started another project altogether. No Galleons swayed Ludo's judgment this time, to the fury of the heads of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons.

What the project was, they'd have to find out.

xxx

Harry spent a total of three days in the Hospital Wing. Thankfully, it wasn't during the weekend, so Professor Moody wouldn't get upset. The paranoid man got upset anyway, after learning Harry got taken down with a simple Stunner.

The boy had finally given up on his friends. He waited longer for Hermione, as she was smarter and kept her cool, but she didn't budge either. He had to give the Gryffindors credit. Whatever way they stood, they were steadfast.

Strelok stopped in on his third morning and dropped off the documents that were temporarily translated for him. Harry skimmed them as quickly as he could, wary of his surroundings. After a grim nod, the papers were snatched up by a floating hand. If you were to move the curtains at this very moment, you'd see a small boy making weird gestures to the air; but his mentor got his implications and dropped a marker on his lap.

Harry drew crude things resembling blueprints, and later went to the bathroom to wash it off.

xxx

At the new factory building that Ludo Bagman and Bartemius Crouch conducted their work in, all was quiet. Nobody came to the place apart from them. As such, Bagman liked to use it for things not work-related. Sometimes, he invited friends over. Crouch tried to reprimand his partner, saying "Ludo, we came here to _not_ be targets!" In Crouch's eyes, Ludo was endangering them. In Ludo's eyes, he was just having a bit of fun every now and then.

Neither of them had to be tidy or clean with their Tournament papers. As a result, they were strewn all over the place. Ludo Bagman was sprawled across the couch, dozing. Crouch was uncomfortably beside him, quill in hand as he thought on how to further complicate the Tournament.

They weren't prepared when Goblins ferociously sprinted into the factory from opposing sides, forming a pincer movement. A team burst through the door and had the two of them out cold before either knew what had transpired.

The team that came in split up. Three gathered the papers and three others drew a somewhat accurate representation of the lines on the whiteboard.

When the Goblins left, a few stayed behind. Bagman and Crouch got kicked out and set up shop elsewhere. It didn't matter. Harry knew what the Task was. He couldn't prevent it this time.

The first challenge of the former TriWizard Tournament was a race.

Care for a swim?

Harry doesn't.

xxx

After the attacks, their opposers stepped up their game. The race was 5 days away. Magic was allowed. Nothing _too_ performance boosting, though. The Chosen one and the Marked one had no idea of how to supersede that. Maybe in another circumstance, sure. Not a race. And not one in the water. They also couldn't harm each other. Harry sat in a chair in his bedroom, grinning. By that wording, the Champions were technically allowed to bring performance-enhancing items from outside the activity.

Harry knew what he was doing. He just hoped it would come in time.

xxx

5 days later, Harry Potter, Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, and Fleur Delacour all stood, eyeing one another. The students were all now officially briefed on the Task. The foreign Headmaster and Headmistress smirked smugly, loving the idea of a Squib Champion. Dumbledore smiled as well, though for different reasons. He was confident in Cedric and Harry. He knew they could do something as simple as this easily. He didn't know the means, but that small fact didn't stop him from trusting them.

It was noon. Midday. Harry wished someone was there to cheer him on. Some of the Gryffindors _did_ believe him, when he told them the truth about his name. During the signing of the parchment that banned Harry indefinitely from Gryffindor House, they held their tongues, afraid of being cast out like him. It went against what Gryffindors were known for. If someone pointed out that fact to the few guilty boys and girls, they would have changed their minds and demanded the parchment retracted.

Nobody did. Harry had nobody in the bleachers for him. The stands only held people to leer at him the full 300 meters.

At 12:05, Ludo Bagman raised his wand, about to send off sparks to signal the start of the First Task.

"Wait!" The Boy-Who-Lived interrupted.

He ran back into the green tent reserved for the Champions. With him he brought a metal machine; no Wizard, except perhaps Albus Dumbledore or Arthur Weasley, would know what the contraption did. The messy-haired green-eyed Squib jogged back with it, and dropped it into the water. As he hefted it Igor Karkaroff exclaimed, "What is that, boy?"

Harry smiled and turned to Ludo Bagman. "The other Champions brought their wands." He motioned to them impatiently grasping their wands, Cedric holding his almost nervously.

"By that display, you have shown that the rules allow them to use magic to get ahead, yes?" Bagman lowered his wand, dumbfounded. Fleur scowled as she caught on. "So, in technicality, I am allowed to use this machine," He gestured to it, the black paint shining in the sun.

"No, he can't! It was brought in!" Madame Maxime protested.

"No, Madame. I am delighted that Harry thought this through." Dumbledore beamed. "What he is alluding to is that his competitors are using their wands, which are also 'brought in'. He's within the boundaries, correct?" He glanced at Ludo.

"Ah, yes. The rules allow it." The greedy man replied nervously.

"Let us get on with it! Zhe crowd is waiting!" Delacour pointed with her wand to the spectators.

With a nod to the Champions, Bagman raised his wand once again and shot off red sparks.

Harry waited until they were all in the water. Viktor delayed a bit casting a weird spell, but eventually got in.

He had had his worries about the water. It was winter, and they're going to swim? Was Bagman out of his mind? But no, the young apprentice found that the whole area was heated. There was no snow or frigid airs within a certain radius of the event, so all was well.

The Chosen one bent down and pulled back the string on the black machine hard. It sputtered and growled, moving forward slowly. Harry jumped in the water beside it, his hands clutching the side.

It was an agonizing buildup, but the contraption got faster and faster, accelerating in the water. Krum was already halfway, having transformed the upper half of his body into a shark. Harry shivered subconsciously. The dark, unfeeling eyes of those creatures always unsettled him. Missing the irony of it, he held his breath and pulled himself underwater. Cedric was the closest, only performing a speed spell. He swung his arms in great big breaststrokes; the water splashing out and nearly hitting a few people. He gaped as his Champion counterpart flew by him. Cedric started moving hurriedly, struggling to beat Harry. Fleur was up next. Her being half Veela set her back in the water-race. She had a horrible dislike for water because of it.

The 17 year old didn't let it stop her, though. The magic she used created a wave underneath the surface, similar to Harry's idea. He edged behind her, the metal bouncing in the water, him flailing on it trying to keep a hold.

She wouldn't let this spoiled boy get past her and win this. Whatever he did in the Hospital Wing was a trick. The Boy-Who-Lived tricked her, so now she was going to trick him!

She altered the wave pushing jer sleek body through the water, making it turn at an angle. The angle coincided with Harry's path. Due to the giant fan's speed, Harry couldn't stop in time, or jump off. He could only watch her. As a precaution, when Fleur got in at the beginning, she casted another bit of magic. The other magic protected her body from other Champions. Even with rules in place, this was the TriWizard Tournament after all! People died in these! Harry expected her body to get mangled and crushed under the force of the heavy black fan cascading through the lane, but instead it was vice versa. Fleur's body acted as a ramp of sorts, making Harry go airborne. He went through the air, at least 15 feet up. The Muggle machine landed on the sidelines, cracking from the hard stone ground. The velocity flung the young Squib off, right back into the pool. He was ahead of Fleur, by Krum. But Krum was too close to the finish line, and ended first. The Headmasters and Headmistress clapped, some cold and automatically.

Harry was on his back in his water, floating. He heard the screaming around him of the students watching. He felt the water moving as Fleur began to catch up. Swirling around, he began to turn himself around, getting upright again. Fleur passed him. Fleur got 2nd.

Harry did a sort of paddling in the water. He gasped mouthfuls of air, hoping to make it to the end before Cedric.

Alas, Cedric made it before him. Pulling himself out of the water at the end, Harry laid on the ground. He couldn't summon the strength to do anymore. As the Champions around him received their scoring, he too did. Nobody seemed concerned with his state, except for Dumbledore.

After the scoring, he scooped the exiled Gryffindor up gently with a _"Mobilicorpus_ " muttered from his wrinkled lips, guiding his floating body to the Champion tent. Nurse Pomfrey was there, repurposing it as a hastily-prepared medical facility.

Harry coughed as he was set down on a conjured white table. "Albus, let him be." The Nurse chided as she gave the boy many different colored potions, some fizzing in his mouth. Fleur came to the entrance and saw the Squib she relentlessly sabotaged. A cruel smile came to her face, and oddly, a stab of guilt. The old Headmaster of Hogwarts tried to get Harry's attention before he collapsed. "Harry? Harry? Can you hear me? You got 3rd!" Dumbledore put up 3 of his fingers, overjoyed for Harry and his success. The result was a little worrying, the Supreme Mugwump had to admit. But he was sure his Nurse had the situation in hand. "Harry, just rest now. You did great, my boy." The Prophesized one passed out a few minutes later, wondering if he really did see that flash of glistening yellow in his vision.

xxx

Bagman and Crouch sat together that night, Bagman going through his winnings from various bets placed.

They were on a roll! After the Potter's injury, they decided to put back the second Task about a week or so more.

Early April seemed the best for it anyways. "So?" Bartemius prompted, sweat rolling from his brow.

"What?" His friend asked.

Crouch sighed in frustration.

"What we've been going over the whole night, dimwit!" He angrily replied.

"The gold earned from the first Task?" Bagman said giddily.

"No! What the second Task will be!"

"Oh, yes." Bagman slumped back. "Yes, dueling is a fine practice. It will be even finer in the TriWizard Tournament!" He enunciated strongly.

"And the Squib?" Barty questioned anxiously, worried about the fallback.

"He'll be fine." His younger companion tried to reassure.

Crouch hoped so.

xxx

Viktor Krum was worried about Harry. Following his crash, he saw him rushed into the Champion-briefing-turned-medical tent and didn't see him afterwards. He knew there was only one place the Boy-Who-Lived could be, the Hospital Wing.

"Making a lot of visits here lately, eh Poppy?" Harry said, some of his words mincing.

"Not any more than the usual rack-up, Mr. Potter."

The youngest Quidditch Seeker in a century leaned back into his pillow. "Oh, good. Wouldn't want to break tradition," he chuckled, stopping suddenly, gasping. "Don't do much of that," The witch warned. "You'll hurt yourself."

Taking her words to heart, Harry relaxed and went limp in the bed.

"What day is it?" He asked, unmoving.

"February 20th."

For most normal people, that would be a cause of concern. The first Task happened on the 18th.

Harry being a teenager, it was easy for him to sleep the day away. One time, he slept an entire day!

He was released that afternoon. When he walked down to get some dinner before heading back to the camp, his Bulgarian friend ran into him. "Oh, sorry," Viktor apologized.

"It's fine. Enjoying 1st place?"

Krum was happy he got to talk with Harry again. The way things left off at their last meeting wasn't how he wanted them to be. Even if Harry was without magic, he didn't parade around. He didn't show off or seem entitled. The boy let Krum keep to himself. There was nothing the older Champion hated more than being crowded.

"Yes, we celebrated on the ship. Delacour almost caught up with me in the scoring when she pulled that little stunt." The air between them became uncomfortable after that. Viktor hadn't meant to bring up the scene (even if it was ingenious!), and Harry didn't want to speak of it.

Finally, he relented.

"I'm surprised you kept it with the move Fleur did,"

His reply broke the ice a little; they stopped the conversation, temporarily grabbing their preferred foods to dine on, along with utensils.

They moved on from the topic of the Veela to simpler things.

"Oh, Harry! Try this. It's great. Comes from Sweden." Viktor said excitedly as he saw a rare dish that he immediately nudged other plates over for.

The rest of their dinner carried on that way.

As they left and said their goodbyes to each other, each going separate ways, someone bumped into Harry.

"Entering it wasn't enough, Squib?" The angry words sounding familiar.

"How long has it been, Ron? You still believe that?" Harry asked his former friend.

"Of course I do! It's the truth." The redhead sneered. Harry caught a glimpse of brown behind his shoulder.

He brushed past Ron to see Hermione.

"Hermione, surely you don't think that drivel is true," He looked down slightly at her. She sniffled, clearly trying to contain herself. "I don't know what to think, Harry. You're a little unpredictable." She laughed, the sound fragile and weak. "On one hand," she gestured to Ron, seething. "You do things for no reason, waiting until the very end to even say anything about them. What if this is no different?" She wiped at her eyes and continued. "You saved Neville's Remembrall without hesitation. He could've gotten a new one. You went into the Chamber, not knowing what was inside. You could have died so many times, Harry." Ron watched in the background silently.

"Then there was Azkaban. What if this is no different?"

Harry let her talk, not interrupting. Her argument was solid.

"Of course, this could also be V-V-" She groaned. "It might be You-Know-Who trying to get to you again." She said quietly, not having the courage and not wanting to face the fact that her friend might be in danger.

Harry almost replied but paused. Hermione went through the problem logically. She looked at it from all angles. He was proud of her, even at a time like this.

About to try to convince her, she stopped him. "Give me time, Harry." With that last phrase she left, dragging Ron with her. Harry watched them as they went, leaving him alone in the long and shadowy hall.

Footsteps rang behind him.

"Keeping zhe lies up, hmm?" Fleur queried.

He closed his eyes wearily. The day and it's events were proving to be too much for him. He turned, meeting her eyes.

She withheld a breath. The boy looked traumatized. Granted, it wasn't much of a look, just a sinking of the cheeks here and there, and a frown. For the boy who seemed impassive, it was a milestone. For a normal person, they would look like they had a stressful day. Not for him.

"Always." Those eyes stared through her. Those eyes too old for someone too young.

The Potter brat turned on his heel and strode away, leaving the beauty alone.

xxx

"I don't understand, Gabrielle. What is the deal with Potter?" Fleur asked her sister, troubled.

"Maybe you would know. If you didn't insult him in every breath you take," Gabby said to her, more concerned with correcting her hair in the mirror.

Fleur paced in her room, unable to shake the enigma that is Harry Potter out of her mind. Even using Muggle technology, he got 3rd. He kept going after _crashing_ and injuring himself.

"He deserves it. The kid is pampered." She said, almost to herself. She was starting not to cling to the widespread rumours. He looked too distant. He looked too sad. Too...blank. Nobody that devoid can be what he is described as, she decided.

"How would you know, Miss I-believe-everything-I-hear?" The question brought her out of her musing.

"Because most of what I hear is _accurate!"_ She answered huffily.

"Look at him, Fleur. I'm not asking you to tell me what he sounds like. I'm asking you to tell me what he _is_ like."

That threw her off for a moment. Gathering her wits, she tossed back her gold-yellow hair. "Fine, I'll try talking to the child." Not that it would get her anywhere. He hardly said anything to anyone. In fact, his lack of response is what got her here! She'd have to get him to talk.

xxx

Strelok fell back to sit on the ground, happy with his work. He got the Ford custom-made tires. Now, the old thing could go almost anywhere with a breeze! It could finally stop getting emotional over it, too. The headlights blinked at him. The man patted its hood, feeling the inside of his shirt wet with sweat.

Harry had come back a few hours ago. As soon as he did, he went in to rest.

Suddenly, the Goblin overlooking the area in the tree-house chirped. He waved his stubby arms, trying to get Strelok's attention.

Harry awoke from the running. He sprang out of bed, seeing what the commotion was about.

What he saw terrified him. A French girl timidly stepped through the Forbidden Forest, using a variant of a compass spell. She was headed right towards them.

He had them all stand down, and ran out to meet her from a different direction.

Her wand's line turned around. She followed it, twirling it to get around hanging branches. Something bumped into her.

"Why are you here?" The boy asked her.

"For your information," she began haughtily, pointing her nose in the air. "I do not have to tell a measly boy what zhe lovely Fleur Delacour does with her time." She sniffed.

Harry crossed his arms.

"Do you know what lives in this forest?"

He asked, as if talking about the weather.

"Of course."

"Then what is that from?" He pointed to a thick web moving with the wind.

"It's from a spider! Do you think I am dumb?" She replied angrily.

"What kind of spider?" The calm question rose from his throat.

"How would I know?"

He waved a finger at her matter-of-factly. "Because, these woods only have one type of spider,"

She glanced back at the web.

"You would know that if you looked for information on this place." The boy's soft voice added. She was caught in her lie. Delacour looked back at him, sensing a faint sadness.

"Okay, fine. I just want to talk, Harry."

He went from sad to amused.

"I'm sorry, Fleur. I'm not up to trade insults, today."

The Hogwarts Champion was void of laughter in an instant. What he said next left her speechless.

"I lost my friend today, Fleur," His pained eyes regarded her. His soft spoken words reverberating in the empty space around them, their quietness intensifying the emotional effect.

"Maybe tomorrow?" He offered. She said nothing. She didn't know what to say. Harry walked away in another direction than he came, curling back around to go back to the camp.

Fleur watched the sunset, still in the woods where he had left her.

The sun shined on her brightly as it sunk. For a second, the huge burning star made her pretty face look almost wet.

xxx

The Goblin with the long-range rifle kept his sights on the two the whole time. He had to move, though. The angle of the watchtower had some trees in the way, so he went through some paths they made a few weeks ago. The human boy left the girl, coming back. The Goblin rushed back, the barrel of the M12 almost reaching the ground in his sprinting. He gave the other Goblins the signal to relax. Nothing had went wrong, this time at least.

Strelok had his left hand bunched up in his pocket, touching a yellow stone absently. He sat in the Anglia and watched as the sniper relieved his fellow guards. His charge came back a few minutes later. He was curious as to what happened; Strelok wouldn't deny it. But he couldn't ask, due to Harry not having magic to cast his language spell. Going from the Goblins winding down, he guessed that things were okay. Greeting his mentor, Harry joined him in the passenger seat. From their current position, they had a perfect view of both sunrise and sunset. Teacher and pupil, Porcupine and Stalker sat in silence, watching the clouds turn from white to red as the sun tinted the sky. The engine clicked from running for so long that day. The sounds reminded the Marked one of a Geiger counter going off. Having an idea, he fished around in his right pocket. A second later, he pulled out the measuring device. To his horror, it wasn't the engine clicking. It was February! What was he thinking?! The cold air would have cooled it down long before now! "Get out!" He yelled to Harry.

They scrambled out of the car. The clicking only increased. They were actually _protected_ minorly from being inside of it.

"Go, go, go!"

The Goblins retrieved their armaments. The huge Russian man immediately swallowed an iodine capsule. The others copied his example. Torch was fortunately among them that night. He had been given bundles of the tablets to carry with him. The pills rattled in his arms as he went. Sprinting off into the bristles, the white-haired Goblin hoped to get to the Colony in time.

The camp's occupants ran out of the Forbidden Forest as fast as their legs carried them.

Eventually, the group made it to the Scottish castle.

Harry knew they couldn't stay where they were, someone would spot them sooner or later.

So they skirted around the edges of the Forest, looking for a place to stop for the night. The castle and its high peaks faded away behind them. Out of luck, the Goblins dug up a rabbit hole.

A few stood guard from behind the mound of dirt they flung up. By early morning, they had a primitive hole in the ground. The small creatures were frantic in the snow, trying not to get hypothermia. They moved the dirt mounds to two separate points, designated as basic barricades. Their objective complete, the warriors crawled back into the hole with the humans.

As the day wore on, the Goblins dug deeper. They had a natural affinity for that sort of thing. How else would the Bank of Gringotts have gotten so deep?

As they dug, the other Goblins took the stone set aside and began crafting with it. By the end of the week, they had basic things.

Places to sleep, however hard that they were, and walls to give privacy. Strelok would have to order food, or steal from the castle. That was bad either way. His choices were the lesser of two evils. One would have him hoping nobody would see the owls landing, and the other would have him hoping nobody noticed the food gone.

Letting his Mosin hang from his back, he sat down and wrote a letter with a pen and paper that had just a few microsieverts radiating from them. The Stalker sighed and added replacements of those to his list. He would have to dispose of them where nobody would find them.

As he wrote, a hair fell onto his paper. And another. He became terrified as he realised. He got up, threw the half-finished list outside, and shakily took more iodine pills.

This wasn't good.


	8. Chapter 8

He had radiation sickness. Hair loss was one of the telltale symptoms. His stomach felt queasy, and he had the urge to vomit hours ago.

He couldn't do anything in his current situation. All he could do was wait and hope his unit level dropped.

3 days later, it had dwindled. Not by far.

Strelok was going to Hogwarts.

xxx

Albus Dumbledore looked out of the window in his office, overlooking the Grounds. He heard stomping. Someone was ascending the stairs.

"Good morning, Albus," Severus said stiffly. "Good morning, Severus," His boss mimicked.

"The Dark Lord is doing something, Albus." The Potions master reported, adjusting his swirling black robes.

"My arm is inflamed."

Dumbledore remained at the window, his body posture eased.

"I see. Stay on your guard, Severus," The Head of Slytherin House nodded and left, his feet echoing in the spiral staircase.

From behind the door, a man stood. He walked out from behind it and approached Albus.

"Help me." The man spoke. Albus turned and smiled upon seeing the man. "Don't worry, my boy," he reassured. "Everything will be fine."

xxx

Harry had stopped the weekly tutelage under Professor Moody. The Auror said that he trained him the best he could, and that there was always room for improvement. Now they met up on Saturdays to talk. Sometimes they'd take the opportunity to chat over lunch.

In addition to his conversations with the DADA teacher (Who insisted on being called Alastor), Harry saw his Bulgarian friend in the Great Hall and waved him over. It made for an interesting lunch. Both of them were inquisitive on the other's part. Viktor asked about Alastor's career as an Auror. Alastor asked if playing Quidditch professionally was all that it was cracked up to be.

As the hour came to a close, the three made plans to repeat the activity another time. Walking back to the cave, Harry looked around for his other mentor.

He didn't find him anywhere. That wasn't uncommon. The Stalker liked to run off randomly some days, coming back later the following evening. The Boy-Who-Lived sat on his bed and took a rag to his pistol. It would be a long night.

xxx

The memories rushed into his head. Memories of a door opening in a bar. Memories of a fat, pudgy bartender shuffling in. The man lit a cigarette and walked over to the wall opposite him, hitting a switch. The overhead lights flickered on, one dimmer than the other. The bar the man upheld wasn't the best place; of course, that didn't matter in the slightest to its patrons. Another man shambled in, this time from the front entrance. He carried a black knapsack with him, holding it carefully. He looked around before setting it down at a lone circular table. The skinny, balding customer went over to the bar and ordered a beverage. The bartender came and served him, a napkin hanging on his arm.

He drank it standing, leaning on the small table as he took sips.

xxx

"Was it a meteorite or a visitation from outer space? Whatever it was, in our small country, there appeared a miracle - the Zone. We sent in troops. Not one returned. Then we surrounded the Zone with a security cordon. We did right. Although I'm not sure. I'm not sure."

The great heavy doors were barely open. Light poured from the small room past them. In it was a bed holding a family of 3. A train whistle blew in the distance. The walls were bare. The one window was hardly more than wood. The train blew again, this time closer. Everything was quiet. A rattling began. First, the cup of water on a little nightstand. The trembling grew more and more as the glass frittered across the table. A toy soon became overcast by the cup's shadow. The water swished back and forth as the train came through on the railroad tracks meant for it.

A woman lay on the bed, awake, not moving. The small child slept in the middle. The man was on the left, also awake. He watched the child and the woman in the bed before getting up slowly, as not to rouse them.

The shaking gradually stopped. The room grew deathly still. The bed creaked under his weight as he moved around on the mattress.

He grabbed his pants from the front of the bed and slid them on, zipping them as he went. Then he moved on to his boots, placing his feet in them before walking out of the room.

He looked at his family again before closing the heavy doors to a crack.

He was in a kitchen. The woman immediately got up after him. The train blew in the distace again, this time from the other way.

The man turned on a faucet and prepared their oven. The fire inside licked at the walls.

He washed his face. The lightbulb hanging from the center of the kitchen came on; and then it got brighter and brighter; finally making a popping sound. The woman stood in the doorway. "Why did you take my watch?" she questioned.

"Where are you going?" The water trickled. She stepped forward, holding a compact box in her hands. "You gave me your word. I believed you,"

"You won't think of yourself. But what about us?"

He ignored her. "Think about your daughter," He started brushing his teeth. "She's not even used to you yet, and you're going back to your old ways," The woman said sadly. He looked over at her.

"You've turned me into an old hag, ruined my life!" She accused.

"Quiet, you'll wake Monkey."

"I can't spend my life waiting for you. I'll die," He gurgled and spat into the sink, using a cloth to wipe his mouth before going and grabbing a half-filled plate, starting to eat. She walked over and stood beside him as she kept on.

"You were going to get proper work. They promised you a decent, normal job." She looked up at him distraughtly.

"I'll be back soon," He informed her. "You'll be back in prison!" She spat.

"Next time, they'll give you ten years instead of five. And you'll have nothing to show for those ten years." She cried. "Not the Zone, not anything. And in ten years, I'll be dead."

He turned around to face her. "Prison? I'm imprisoned everywhere. Let me go," The man deftly slid past her. She caught onto his arm. "I won't let you go!" But he got out of her grip, and left, taking his coat with him. The door slammed behind him, showing an awake Monkey. The woman was left in the kitchen.

"Go on, then!" She said to the empty room, sniffling. "And may you rot there!"

The cloth fell from its hanger as she sat on the one chair they had. "I curse the day I met you, you scum. God cursed you by sending you that child." The pot crashed onto the ground, following the rag. "And he cursed me because of you. You bastard!" She bent in half and laid on the hard wooden floor, whimpering to herself. Another train came through, the noise filling the kitchen.

The man walked across the abandoned and mud-filled tracks. A voice sounded from nearby. "My dear, the work is so unutterably boring. There's no telepathy, no ghosts, no flying saucers. They can't exist. The world is ruled by cast-iron laws," The man walked over to them, almost as if he would break if he fell over. His hands were balled in his coat pockets. "These laws are not broken," A fair woman smiled, fur covering her upper half. "They just can't be broken," The balding man continued. She smiled and replied. "Don't hope for flying saucers. That would be too interesting."

Her companion took a drag before he answered. "But what about the Bermuda Triangle?"

"You're not going to contradict-"

"Yes, I am. There is no Bermuda Triangle. There's Triangle ABC, which equals Triangle A prime, B prime, C prime,"

He stood before her before leaning on her car. "It's all so tedious, so very tedious."

The rich woman held a glass in her hands gingerly.

"In the Middle Ages, life was interesting. Every house had its goblin, each church had God."

She grinned.

"People were young. Now every fourth person is old."

"It's boring, my angel. It's all so boring," The cigarette in his mouth withered.

"But you said the Zone is the product of a super civilization,"

The woman raised the glass to her lips and drank from it.

"Which is probably also boring, also with laws and triangles, but without goblins, and of course, without any God."

His rich voice tittered.

"Becayss if there is a God, he'll be that very triangle," She giggled. "Then I simply don't know,"

He held a white bag in his hands and looked over.

"It's for me. Goodbye, dear friend."

The man in the black overcoat greeted the man walking from the tracks.

"This fine lady agreed to go with us into the Zone." He informed him.

"She's so brave, her name is-"

"Excuse me, what is your name?" She interrupted. "Are you really a Stalker?" She wondered excitedly. He came up to them and gave them both a glance.

"I'll explain everything later," He told the lady's friend.

"Get lost."

With a harrumph, the lady did so, getting in her car.

"An idiot." She said to the man with the bag before driving away.

"So you've been drinking?" The hunched man asked.

"I simply had a drink, as does half of all humanity. And the other half also gets drunk, including women and children." The first man stumbled off, heading to the bar. The second raised his flask and followed. "I simply had a drink,"

They walked into the bar, going up the rickety stairs.

The door was ramshackle, creaking as did all else in the place. He closed the door behind him, returning his hand to a pocket. The second man caught up with him, arriving at the door before falling against it.

"Damn it," He cursed.

"Somebody spilled something."

The poor man led the way in, ordering a drink.

"Drink. It's still early," he ordered. The man from before gathered up his knapsack, removing it from their way.

"How about one for the road?" He asked nobody in particular.

"What do you think?"

"Take it away."

"Of course, the prohibition law."

The bottles clinked.

"Alcohol is the scourge of mankind,"

The other man regarded him curiously.

"Let's drink beer then," he offered.

"Is he coming with us?" The knapsack-man questioned.

"Don't worry. He'll sober up. He needs to go there too."

"Are you really a professor?" The drunk turned from the bar and glanced at them.

"If you wish," he replied.

He came over, the others making space on the cluttered table.

"In that case, let me introduce myself. My name is..." He drawled.

The poor one cut him off.

"They call him the Writer,"

"And what's my name?" He mused.

"You're the Professor."

"Of course."

The bartender wiped the bar.

"I'm a writer, so naturally everyone calls me the Writer."

"What do you write about?" Professor interrogated.

"About my readers," the terse response came. "No sense in writing about anything else."

"There's no sense in writing about anything." Professor ducked his head.

"What are you? A chemist?" The conversation dragged on.

"I'd say a physicist," Writer went on, not giving him a second to answer.

"That's probably tedius too. Searching for the truth,"

The bartender grabbed another smoke, ignoring the customers.

"You dig here and there,"

"Right. The nucleus consists of protons."

"That's a good dig. Triangle ABC equals Triangle A prime, B prime, C prime." Writer parrotted.

"But with me, it's a different matter. I dig for the truth, but while I do, something happens to it," The Stalker coughed, long and hard. Writer took the opportunity to soothe his throat with his glass.

"The truth changes into a pile of... I won't say what. It's just fine for you. Say there's some antique pot in a museum. In its own time, it was a trash bin. But now it draws admiration for its simplicity of lind and unique form. And everyone oohs and aahs over it. Suddenly, it turns out nit to be an antique after all." Writer monologued. "It was planted by some joker for a laugh." He drank again.

Professor spoke up. "The sounds of admiration die away. Some connoisseurs!" He grumbled.

"This is what you think about all the time?" Writer set his glass on the table.

"God forbid. I don't think. It's bad for me."

The Stalker stops them in the middle of their parrying. "Do you hear that? That's our train," he informs them.

The three leave the bar after leaving coins on the small table, mumbling all the way.

Strelok gasps, having not thought of it in years. He remembered. He remembered, and then he forgot.

The Russian passes out.

xxx

Sybil Trelawney sat back in her chair at her desk, reprimanding a fifth year Hufflepuff for misreading their tea leaves and causing a panic in the classroom. Mid-sentence, the instructor's head drooped like a flower, and her voice croaked.

" _The one who chooses his fate looms. Old wounds scar him. He will lose himself in the darkness, robbed of his talent. A great evil shall pass, taking him with it. He is unseeing and unfeeling. But he will recover his gift and grow eyes anew!_ " The Divination Professor slumps over. Her terrified student runs to the door, heading to the Headmaster's office.

 _"Danger lurks, and it brings suffering,"_ The woman says before finally succumbing to whatever had overtaken her.

That last line increased the Hufflepuff's urgency, and soon he bumped into someone going the opposite way.

Ignoring them, he sprinted on, disappearing behind the base of the stairwell.

The Marked one paid no attention to the frantic teenager, only having eyes for his PDA. On it flashed a task in white font: 'Kill the Target'.

Having a rough location embedded in the device, he went on, ignoring any and all other students that passed.

xxx

Harry sat on top of the Astronomy tower, at a time when nobody used it. His eyes ravished the stars in the night sky. He had too many questions over the past few days, and too few answers for them. Why was he still bound to the Tournament? He gave up his magic to leave. When will Ron and Hermione see the truth for what it was? On that matter, when would his former House? Would they ever? Was the Tournament part of Voldemort's plan to do him in?

Is his French competition actually trying to repent and make up, or is she trying to pull a fast one? A bang erupted behind him. The girl of his thoughts came up from the hole, looking around and stopping when she found him leaning against a pillar.

"What are you doing?" Her unnormally soft voice asked.

"Something I shouldn't be," He replied vaguely.

She climbed up and dusted off her clothes, completing her ascent. The Veela came over to him and sat as well. They both looked up into the dark sky. The full moon enveloped their faces. She glanced over at him.

"It's the perfect place to do it, Fleur," The boy whispered.

"To do what?" She hesitantly questioned.

"What you've been wanting to do."

"I wasn't sure if it was the right time." She admitted sheepishly.

"Don't worry, it is. Just do it," He provoked her.

The boy stood up and faced away from the ledge.

"I-"

"I'm sick of all of this, Delacour." He angrily retorted, cutting her off.

"I'm not in the mood to play your games! Get it over with. I'm tired of waiting."

The girl thought to herself. Awfully rude, isn't he? She couldn't berate him any further. With a half-hearted grumble, she got up and went to apologize.

"Fine. I'm sorry, Harry,"

His feet were inching at the Tower's fatal drop before she even started. His weight pushed him backwards. He was already unsteady from being so close. Her confession shocked him. He recoiled from it. As he did, they both heard a wet, squishy sound. His chest became a geyser of blood. An unseen force pushed him back, and the Boy-Who-Lived fell off of the Astronomy Tower. Fleur screamed and rushed after him.

Nobody could save him. His body wasn't able to be seen in the darkness.

xxx

The Marked one left his sniping position. His objective was completed. He said it, as if to himself.

"We thank you, oh Monolith, for revealing the cunning plans of your enemies to us.

We await your orders, oh Monolith."

xxx

Fleur apparated to the bottom of the Tower, fretting if she got there in time. Thankfully, she did. Casting a strong Levitation spell, she hoped it would hold.

Normally, apparition wouldn't work within the Hogwarts wards. It didn't let Wizards in or out. She was only half-human, so it didn't apply to her, to her gratitude.

Harry's body crashed into it, slowing down gradually until he came to a full stop. She dropped him to the ground carefully.

He was covered in blood and fading in and out of consciousness.

"Going to finish the job?" He rasped, convinced this was her doing.

"What do you mean?" Fleur was bewildered. She stopped Vanishing the blood leaking from his stomach and looked up at his face.

He laughed harshly. "I thought you were going to push me off, not this,"

"Why would I push you?"

"Drop the act!" He choked. "I know you hate me. It was evident. Tonight, you could _finally_ kill off Harry Potter, the Squib-Who-Lived."

She was appalled. She did dislike him. She did mock him behind his back. She wasn't capable of _this._

"I don't hate you enough to fatally injure you," She said, closing his wound.

"Not after what you gave me."

Harry said no more. His eyes were closed.

 _"Rennervate!"_

He coughed and his eyes shot open. "Get up, you're fine. You can sleep later."

"I suppose I should thank you." He bit the words off.

"You can zank me by telling me what made your torso a fountain."

"A bullet. I've been hit with rubber ones enough to know what they feel like,"

"A boo-let?" She sounded out.

"What is that?"

He sighed. "Don't worry about it."

It went straight through. He felt nothing in his insides. He was safe, for now.

He had to find Strelok and tell him someone had a long-range rifle nearby.

"I think we should worry about it, if it does zat to you," She said determinedly, pointing to his now healed flesh.

"Sure, some other time," Harry said. He left, not waiting for an answer.

She flushed in anger before following.

Harry had to cross through the castle to make it back to the cave. In his detour, he passed the empty Great Hall. Fleur appeared by the entrance a few minutes later. She was about to go off in the last direction she saw the boy, before hearing a noise in the Hall.

The girl looked through the barely open doors, peeking one eye through their crack.

xxx

On his way back to report that the mission was a success, Strelok passed by a long room. It was abandoned, except for something blue in the middle of it. He opened the door a smigdeon, walking into the desolate space.

His eyes widened. Why was the Wish Granter here? Was it all in his head?

He looked through his memories, searching for anything concerning the rock. Flashes crept in his mind's eye. Who was his Target? He never got a name, only a description and a picture.

More parts of things he had never seen were in his head. He remembered places he never was, people he never met.

He remembered a boy. He was foreign; The Stalker took him as a student. He became his own Porcupine.

He had just shot his pupil.

xxx

She saw some man approach the Goblet of Fire. He laid a piece of wood and metal from his hands onto the floor.

He takes off his hood, revealing his bald complexion. He raises his arms up to the Goblet of Fire. His plea was said strongly, reverberating in the empty Great Hall.

"I want to be... forgiven." His voice was one of unspeakable atrocities; ones Fleur hoped she would never bear witness to.

Before the French teen could wonder what would happen, the man disappeared without a trace.

xxx

Harry stops running. Pain overwhelms his body, and he lays on the ground.

 _'What happened? Where am I?'_

A voice boomed.

"What?" Harry glimpsed around him. Nobody was there.

' _Harry?_ _Is that you?_ '

"Strelok?" He paused. If the voice was in his head, maybe thinking would have an effect on it?

' _Strelok?'_

' _Harry! I'm sorry for hurting you.'_

 _'You didn't hurt me. We only trained.'_

Sending and receiving responses hurt Harry. His eyes snapped shut, stars rampant in his vision.

' _No, not that. I me-'_

 _'Tell me when I wake up. Keep your thoughts short. This hurts._

The ex-Wizard falls into a deep sleep on the floor in the middle of a stairway.

xxx

Harry woke up, not on stairs or in the position he was before. He moved his legs. He was on something. Upon further investigation, it was a mattress.

He had new memories; he never remembered them before. They were with men he had never known.

' _The two that come to your mind were known as Professor and Writer._

Porcupine's legacy said in his mind suddenly.

 _'Who is this Porcupine?'_

 _'He was my teacher.'_

A fuzzy image came to him, one he couldn't sift through at the moment.

"Poppy?" Harry called.

"Just a moment, Mr. Potter," she yelled back.

 _'If you're wondering how you got here, Fleur Delacour found you.'_

 _'How do you know?'_

 _'Just because you lose consciousness doesn't mean I do.'_

After a moment, Harry had a wry thought.

 _'I guess we have our own little C-Consciousness.'_

They both chuckled. The Nurse came in and tended to Harry. "You have a visitor," she informed him.

"Who?" He asked her.

"Another Champion."

 _'Feel your pockets. I lost my stones.'_ Strelok requested.

Harry nudged his body against the bed, feeling for them.

 _'They're here.'_

Harry felt the relief in their bond.

"Harry?"

"Hello, Fleur." He greeted wearily.


	9. Chapter 9

"No! Go away!" He shouts. It follows him. It? He runs. He stumbles over himself.

It catches up and washes over him. He falls.

It creeps over his body.

"No!"

It climbs.

"Please!"

He struggles.

It envelopes him, and everything becomes devoid of light.

xxx

 _'It's a weird feeling. But you'll know it.'_

 _'Oh?'_

 _'You lose color, you lose sound. Everything goes silent. You get a metallic taste. You feel pins and needles. And you know. The second it hits you, you know. You'll think, "I'm dying." And by the time you get out, it'll have already killed you.'_

 _'And you want that?'_

 _'Of course. What else is humanity for? We aren't content. We grow restless. The Zone was my life. It is my life. It will be my life.'_

 _'Sounds as if the C-Con made a lasting impact.'_

 _'You won't know. You'll never know. You have memories. But you haven't been there. You haven't Stalked.'_

 _'I do know._ _I have Stalked.'_

 _'You don't. You traipse through weeds and crawl through swamps. You march and condition yourself. And for what? A silly contest_?'

 _'So it would seem.'_

 _'That is not what Stalking is. That is not what being a Stalker is. It's more than that. I can't even begin to tell you.'_

 _'So, don't tell me. Show me.'_

 _'What good is that? It would be secondhand.'_

 _'And?'_

 _'And nothing. It's not from you. It comes from within us. We can share it, like I have, but that is nothing compared to the true feeling.'_

 _'You love it_ , _don't you?'_

 _'Who wouldn't? Even in it's dangers, it's beautiful. The Zone represents humanity.'_

 _'And now it's lost.'_

 _'We all become lost. Wouldn't you say that? Even if it never exists again, it will always.'_

 _'That's paradoxical.'_

 _'So it is. The Zone happened to me. It's part of me. Now, you. I will always know it. It is the Sun, and I am the Earth.'_

 _'What is the Zone to me?'_

 _'You will know, in time. We all have our own Zone to explore. We all have our own artifacts, our own Monolithians. All of this is just an example.'_

 _'Of?'_

 _'It's the world saying, "We triumphed!" To overcome great animosity, to persevere among the harshest of conditions, that is humanity.'_

 _'And our faults?'_

 _'They're a part of us, among other things. Despite our fear, our cowardice, we push on.'_

 _'That's contradictory.'_

 _'Is it? A coward is one who shrinks from hurt, and from pain. We are all cowards. We are all martyrs. They may lack courage, yes, but they have instinct. They have feelings. In all of their senses and nerve endings, in their blood cells and organs, in their perceptions and understanding, humanity lies. Within that, the unshakeable tendency to live. Someone may be a liar, or a murderer, but they have these things. They trust themselves. They survive as long as possible. Forget good and bad and black and white. There's life and death. It's all that matters. "Where will I find food?" one night and "How can I contribute to those in need?" the next. From one to one more.'_

 _'What about justice? An eye for an eye?'_

 _'That depends on what you believe. What you say is right and wrong. You're judge, jury, and executioner. You bring down the guillotine, you pull the trigger, you heave the sword and scrawl with a pen. From the moment you see someone. A man looks homeless. Just from your observations, you make assumptions and inferences._ _That man might not be homeless. He might be going through a tough stretch of life. Or maybe he is homeless and has been for years. You decide._ _You._ '

"Harry?"

He was brought out of thought by his visitor. He straightened up and looked at her.

"Yes?"

"What happened?"

 _'What do I say?'_

 _'Don't say. Do._

"Come here," He beckoned. "You'll understand."

She did so and walked up carefully.

He went into his pocket and pulled out a ball. He held it in two hands and gave it to her. Fleur backed up and shook her head.

"You'll understand, Fleur," He tried to reassure.

"You want to know? You will."

Another beckon with the ball, and she tenderly grabbed it.

 _'What if it turns out to be the Hospital Wing again?'_

 _'If it does, it's irrelevant. What happens now will be remembered. Unspoken feelings are unforgettable.'_

He reached toward her. The French girl leaned away, anxious.

"Please?"

She gave it back after a second of hesitation.

As she did, a terrible feeling of loss overcame her. All of the bad feelings in the world, the suffering, was known to her. She gasped.

"And now you know," He told her.

She reeled. "Now I know?" She rasped.

"I feel horrible!"

"But you know."

He was right; she did, now. She would never be able to explain it, but she did.

"This is yours now," He gave the green, bumpy rock back.

"Why would I want such a dreadful zing?" She refused.

"It makes you happy."

Fleur scoffed.

"I don't need a stone to be happy. Besides, it tells me nothing about your collapse the other day."

"It ties into it. Please take the rock." Harry puts off the explanation.

"Fine. If anything, it'll get a few galleons."

Fleur shuffled in her seat.

"Zhe second Task is coming up and I came to tell you what it was," She confessed.

"And I can trust you?" He responded.

Fleur was in an outrage. "I saved your life!" She reminded the boy.

"Okay, fine. I'll listen, no promises after that."

"It's Dueling."

 _'But I'm a Squib!'_

xxx

Harry had had to think. Hard. She told him it was a few days later. He didn't know exactly when, so he pumped his brain. He brainstormed. He wracked his thoughts. He needed an advantage. A Muggle advantage.

The next day, he had his pistol in his hand again.

To be precise, the pistol that fired bullets at the speed of a mile after 5 and a half seconds of velocity. He wasn't aiming to kill, he just wanted them out for the count. He wasn't the monster some made him out to be. He wouldn't pull his punches with Viktor, even if he was his friend. Harry had a tournament to win. Cedric, sure. They were from the same school. Fleur? Harry wasn't sure how to deal with her. She was a mystery. He'd need a backup. Harry's former mentor assisted him mentally, and the two formed plans on how to dispatch their opponents.

xxx

"Please help me!" A yell sounded around him. He opened his eyes to see a torn warzone. Bullets screamed around him. They destroyed wood like hyperactive termites. It was all he heard. Bullets cracking and dying men. He pushed himself off of the ground and looked around. What greeted his eyes was horrible.

"They took the hill!" A mature voice shouted.

"We need to get out!"

"Don't leave me here to die!" The wounded soldier responded.

He got no answer except for the faint sound of rustling and boots falling into mud.

"Sasha!"

Harry crawled to the man slowly, making sure he was behind cover the majority of the way.

The soldier's head swiveled fearfully in circles until he saw him.

"Don't worry. You'll be okay." He tried reassuring the older man.

"Porcu-" His head bursted like a watermelon. His gear became limp along with his body, and his shaking grew slower and slower until it came to a stop.

With a gasp, Harry awoke.

He was in a field. A field with long grass and flowers that had no scent. There, he laid. He watched the clouds. A monotonous sound began. It became quicker and quicker until he realised it was ticking. No, not ticking. Clicking. Clicking?

It was all around him.

"You're awake, I see."

Harry spun around to see a middle aged man starting to bald.

"Come on, get up. I don't have all day, and I want to see this Room of yours."

He beckoned toward Harry and then turned away, waiting and searching the skies.

"Oh, Writer. What can I do?"

Harry asked him, still laying in the grass.

"You can get up and lead me."

Writer looked over his shoulder at him, no trace of humor in his voice.

"Would you be lead?"

"It is your job, is it not? Besides, I paid to be here."

He leaned and outstretched a hand to Harry.

He took it and got up.

"Where is the Professor?" The boy wondered.

"Is that one of your friends? If so, I hardly think he would be on this trip. It was just us."

"Just us? Nobody else?"

"If you think someone else was with us, maybe your Zone is getting to you. Or maybe, you're losing it."

"Losing it?"

Writer sighed wearily.

They walked down a beaten path.

Harry took a bolt tied with cloth out of his inner pocket and tossed it.

"Your mind."

"How?"

Harry glanced over to him.

"Just the fact you're considering it is enough."

The duo continued on. They traipsed through swamps and meadows, through brush and weeds.

"I wouldn't worry, Stalker. You need to be crazy to do this for a living anyways."

Writer's voice came from behind him.

Suddenly, Harry halted in his tracks. He turned to face his companion.

"What would you do in a situation where everything is against you?"

"I would go into an illegal area and charge people far too much to guide them half of a kilometre." He sarcastically answered.

"To be serious, I would do all I could to escape."

"What if you can't escape?"

"You can _always_ escape, idiot."

Writer patted the left corner of his jacket, where a hefty bulge could be seen.

"You always have a choice."

"Always?"

"Always. Now stop daydreaming and get a move on. Your rate is by the hour, in case you forgot."

They kept on.

On a particularly strong root, Harry tripped. He tripped and fell. But he never hit the ground. He kept falling. He fell into a freefall.

The air rushed against him. His hair was pushed back. Wind blew into his cheeks roughly. Harry plummetted.

And everything stopped in an instant. Harry found himself in a room. It was immaculate, except for an artifact on the floor. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a miniature Goblet of Fire. When he shook it in his hand it spat out purple scraps of paper.

He tried to read them. He turned them upside down, he sounded them out, he tried combining them. He even shook a few like the Goblet. It was to no avail.

When he strained his ears, he heard something. A tiny something. He raised a piece to his ear. It whispered to him in a million different voices.

They were all unique. Some sounded insane, others happy, others sad. After tinkering with the papers, he discovered that they grew louder and quieter randomly. They became a harmony and then separated. Some even screamed. They ran together and got louder and louder. The sounds reverberated around the empty room.

And it all stopped in an instant.

And there he was, isolated and alone.

He couldn't try to say the markings anymore. His voice was gone.

And that was how he woke up, soundless.

He had only a voice in his head and rocks in his pockets.

xxx

"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do, Mr. Potter." Madam Pomphrey informed him solemnly.

He nodded in resignation.

"I could contact St. Mungo's, if you like?" She offered.

Harry nodded again.

"I'll get back to you in a few days. For now, take it easy."

With that, Harry left the small office.

 _'The Zone gives and the Zone takes, Harry.'_

 _'What will I receive?'_

 _'We must wait.'_

"Harry? What are you doing here?"

He looked around at the mention of his voice. He motioned to his throat and made a cutting motion with his hand.

"Oh, I see! Zhe wonderful nurse will decapitate you!" She teased.

"Can I watch?"

He smiled and retreived a piece of parchment to begin writing. When he handed it to Fleur, it read, " _I lost my voice_."

"Oh, zat's dreadful! I'm sorry to hear zat, Harry." She said.

"When will you find it again?"

" _Haha."_

An idea struck the quiet boy. He wrote rapidly on the parchment, almost ripping it.

" _Could you hel_ _p?"_

"Well Harry, zhere's a little problem. For me to help you, you need to use magic."

 _"I can't."_

"Oh well, looks like I can't help you. Bye now!" She said cheerfully, starting to walk in the other direction.

He grabbed her shoulder and pointed at a corner of the paper.

 _"Please?"_

"Zat wasn't so hard, Harry. You're not a total Squib, hmm?"

They left the Hospital Wing together. When Harry and Fleur ran into someone wanting to talk, Harry made small hand gestures or head movements to Fleur and she relayed them onwards.

Anytime Harry came back to the castle, he sought Fleur and they went off to do various things, such as study or practice new spells. Practising spells was mostly Fleur doing movements and Harry silently encouraging her.

Late one night, as Harry began to leave Hogwarts, a body engulfed his. It was her. She wrapped him in a quick and tight hug, like a present covered with paper.

"Goodnight, Harry."

He waved at her as she went off to the carriages and returned to the goblin cave.

 _'Remember, Harry. The Zone gives, and the Zone takes away.'_

A warm feeling crept into his stomach, filling out his midsection. Despite the chill of the air, he felt nice and toasty.

 _'Yes it does, Strelok. Yes, it does.'_


	10. Chapter 10

"Who are you?"

"You're talking to yourself."

oioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioi

"I-I just..." A pause. "I just wanted to help."

Eyes shift. Brows narrow. Tear ducts open.

A breath. Another. And then nothing.

Eyes close. A face relaxes. A body sinks back.

 **90 DAYS EARLIER**

"You're being an idiot. Stop." Two people shuffle past others in their hurry through the quaint village.

"All I said was 'You didn't have to do that!'" The other retorted angrily.

"Fine. And I said you're being an idiot."

"I'm telling you not to do something dangerous and you call _me_ an idiot?"

The leader of the duo stops.

"Everything in life won't be checked for safety or have maintenance done on it every few years."

"I didn't say that!"

"Then what did you say?"

"I said, don't do something dangerous. And what did you do? Something dangerous. Something dangerous that led us to this conversation, which, I remind you, we wouldn't be having."

The follower raises a finger to their chin in fake bemusement.

"Why do you think we're talking about it? Oh wait, right, because a certain someone did it."

"Whatever." They started walking again through the crowded streets. "Get your money's worth while you can. It's not like you get it any other time."

"Wow, petty."

They stopped at a large concession stand. The leader got the attention of the attending wizard and waved him over.

"Excuse me, we'll have one of your Rampaging Rovers please."

"Right away, sir!" The wizard nodded energetically and reached below the counter to grab one.

"That'll be 15 Galleons."

Coins changed hands, and soon a small black and bumpy object was in the pocket of the follower.

"Have a good one."

"Hey, you too!"

They continued down the road.

Rampaging Rovers were seen as a toy; it was much more than that. Like any other thing that was magical, it had secrets. One such secret aided its' user. Aurors knew about them. They were trained to avoid high sounding shrieks like nothing else. They knew, if you heard it, to _get out_. They knew what followed.

"What are you going to do this time?"

xxx

"Your cat-nap digs into my funding, Stalker."

He gasped and rolled over.

"Ah, you're awake. Good. We can continue as planned, yes?"

"Doing this is hard, Professor. Everything takes a toll."

"What isn't hard? None of us are ever the first to invent or discover anything. What is hard to us isn't hard at all. It's been accomplished before. Besides, it's a glorified nature trail, not the study of atoms. Get up, Stalker."

"Why? What purpose does it serve? So I can find other people and bring them too? So I can repeat the process? So I can go home to desperation?"

"Your problems are not your own. They were issues before they became problems. Your lack of action was the catalyst. Everything has a beginning and an end. Your Porcupine, your Zone, this trip. Nothing is exempt. And nothing is done about this endless cycle. Nothing can be done. And everyone knows this; but they keep on with their meager lives, such as you."

"There is always an outlier."

"Always? That isn't true."

"It is for some."

"We can talk on the way back. For now, I'd like to make more progress. Rambling might be progress for you, but I regret to say it isn't for me."

And they were off. As he led Professor through a wooded area, he failed to notice a thick branch where he was about to step. And he fell. And he fell. Into nothing.

The colors faded. Professor faded. The area faded. The trees faded. The sky faded. Everything to nothing, in a second.

And that was how he woke.

"Bad dream?"

He looked up to see his French friend sitting across from him at a table. Their papers were strewn over it.

"During your little nap, I managed to learn a few things. It would have been easier with someone reading other sections, zough."

 _"Sorry."_

"It's nothing. We all get tired sometimes. Even the great Harry Potter." She grinned.

 _"Talk to Krum recently?"_

Fleur frowned. "No. Not since the last Task. Why?"

" _We just need to talk. Boy stuff, you wouldn't understand."_

She crossed her arms.

"Hmm, I see. You know, we were taught quite a lot about boy stuff back in France."

Harry shrank in his chair.

 _"I'll tell you later."_

"Fine. But not too long, or I'll give you a lesson zhe French way!" The girl smiled sweetly.

He grimaced.

"Help me with zese notes, please, Harry."

And he did.

She hugged him more often, now. And now, he was beginning to return her hugs more often.

It gave him a lot to think about.

She kept her hair curled and appeared much more brightly around him. He felt the same way with her. When she was around, he was happy. If just a smidgeon more than before, it made a difference. When she was upset over something, he cheered her up and got her mind off of it. And vice versa. They became best friends.

That was the irony of it. Two contestants, pitted against each other, who became thick as thieves.

Just then, a faint voice interrupted his musing.

"Deadly anomalies, dangerous mutants, anarchists and bandits! None of them can stop Duty from its triumphant march towards saving the planet!"

Harry lost the smile he didn't know he had. That reminded him. But of what?

 _'The Task is coming up, Harry.'_

He scoffed.

 _'I know, Strelok. I'm in the Tournament, after all.'_

 _'One wouldn't think that, with the way you've been.'_

 _'What do you mean by that?'_

 _'Nothing. I'm just reminding you, Harry.'_

 _'I'm prepared, Strelok. You know we have a plan.'_

 _'Plans exist to go wrong. Be unpredictable.'_

 _'Hence the plan.'_

Their banter went on. As it did, Harry retreived an empty can and a box of matches from his "room" in the cave.

The goblins, in their digging, dug into deposits of oil and gas. The teacher and student factored that in, and adjusted accordingly.

By the time the Task came, Harry would be _hot._

And not just hot. _On_ _fire._

xxx

It was the day of the Task. The Champions all got time to ready themselves. Harry took his time to make sure his trap was rigged above the stage. He had came hours before everything was finished, putting it in the rafters. Nobody would have seen or sensed it. They would have looked for magic.

He had a string hooked to a pulley in a corner. All he had to do was trip and fall on it, and have his oppponent near the center. Not too hard. If he was seen as defenseless, they would hopefully approach and finish the duel.

First up was Delacour and Diggory.

The referee came up to the stand and raised his wand.

"Duelers, ready?"

His head flicked from Diggory to Delacour. They both nodded, Diggory with some hesitation.

His wand produced a light like a flare, and he brought it down to begin the match.

Their fight didn't last long.

Whatever spells were taught at Beauxbatons were obviously superior to the Hogwarts curriculum.

Cedric sent a Banishing Curse her way, and she quickly reflected it and caught him in a " _Locomotor-Mortis!"_

And then she Summoned his wand before he could retaliate, and that was that.

The Hogwarts crowd was devastated. The fight was over in seconds. Everyone was hoping for Cedric, apart from Slytherins.

Next up: Krum and Potter.

The two students went to their respective ends of the dueling platform and waited for the signal.

 _'Really? Juicing yourself?'_

 _'Hey, you want to do this sober, be my guest.'_

He had the string taped to his arm, ready to be pulled at a moment's notice.

He had the lighter in the pocket, ready to be used in a moment's notice.

And he had flesh, ready to be scorched at a moment's notice.

The mixing was too easy. Take some oil, some diesel, and a cheap Styrofoam tray or plate. Break it up, mix it in, dump out the excess.

The more oil, the longer the burn. This was the Tri-Wizard Tournament. The word 'Lethal' didn't exist.

The same referee returned to the middle and repeated his actions. Harry and Krum nodded to him. He flicked his wand, and the fight began.

The second it did, Harry brought _his_ arm down.

 _Thwick!_

 _Splash!_

Where the referee stood earlier was now a puddle of liquid.

Harry fell to his knees and pleaded.

"Please, that was it! That was all I had! I don't have a chance! Let me surrender, I'm no threat, Vik! You know me!"

His friend lowered his wand and inched over to him.

"Harry, you know what they want. One of us needs to be out of the game. Surrender isn't an option. I hope you can forgive me one day."

"That makes two of us."

The first puddle was a decoy. A few seconds after it, a delayed second outburst would happen. Harry called it safety; Strelok called it overkill.

It came down and soaked them both.

The putrid smell wafted down to the first few rows of spectators.

In the back of her mind, Hermione Granger knew something was off.

 _Swish_!

"Harry? What are you doing?!" The Bulgarian cries out as the flames spread.

"Warming up." He grinned.

Viktor tries to use spells and repelling charms, even a weak _"Aguamenti!"_ , but to no avail.

You're not getting rid of napalm with a few spells, especially if you're _in_ it.

Their groans and later screams filled the small stadium. The referee almost rushed in a few times to declare a draw, but was rebuked as neither had stopped moving. In the case of Viktor, he hadn't let go of his wand.

Old napalm burned for 30 seconds.

Can you guess how long oil makes it burn for?

Too long.

Long enough for the both of them to stop screaming.

Long enough for Viktor Krum to relinquish his wand.

Long enough for Harry Potter to stop moving.

Long enough for the both of them to become black.

The referee sprinted in and ended the duel too late.

The two were both taken off of the platform in blinding speed, Krum slightly faster.

Later, Krum was able to be revived.

Harry? Not yet. For some, it's a victory. For others, it's a defeat. For one, it's the end of their world.

One who wasn't told of what happened during the duel, but who heard the screams and smelt the burned skin. For her Veela ears, it was like she was right next to them.

It was like she died with him.

When he was brought in on a stretcher, she ran over to him. He was partially black in places. He was almost unrecognizable.

What broke her heart was that his wasn't beating.

"Harry?"

He showed no sign of having heard her. Or breathing, for that matter.

"Come back to me, Harry. I need you." She sobbed into his chest.

"I love you!"

She was dragged away by the Nurse a few minutes later for some reason.

xxx

"You've brought many people here."

A voice ventured, bringing him out of his stupor.

"Not as many as I would like."

"That's not the point. Why did they come here? What did they want?"

The voice interrogated.

"Happiness, I guess."

"Yes, but what kind of happiness?"

"People don't like to talk about their innermost feelings. And it's neither yours nor mine business."

"In any case, you've been lucky. I haven't seen one happy man in my life."

He opened his eyes and glanced over.

"Me neither. They return from the Room and I lead them back, and we never see each other again. It's not that wishes come true immediately."

"Have you ever wished to use this Room yourself?"

"I'm fine as I am."

The black dog that had been following them approaches him as he lay, slumped in a riverbed. It curls up behind him, and there they lay.

The voice continues.

"Professor, listen. Speaking of this purchased inspiration, let's imagine that I enter this Room and return to our God-forsaken town a genius. A man writes because he's tormented, because he doubts. He needs to constantly prove to himself and the others that he's worth something."

Writer pauses and takes in a shallow breath.

"And if for sure I'm a genius? Why write then? What the hell for? Well, I must say, we exist for..."

"Will you be so kind and leave me alone?" Professor interrupts.

"Let me get a wink, I haven't slept all night. Keep your complexes to yourself."

Writer keeps on, ignoring the other man.

"In any case, all this technology of yours, all those blast furnaces, wheels, and other bullshit are only designed in order to work less and eat more. They are all just crutches. Artificial limbs. And mankind exists to create works of art. Unlike all other human activites, this one is unselfish. Great illusions! Images of the absolute truth. Are you listening to me, Professor?" Writer halts his monologue.

"What unselfishness are you talking about?" Professor responds. "People still die of hunger. Have you fallen from the moon?"

"And they are supposed to be our brainy aristocracy! You are not even capable of thinking in abstractions."

"Are you going to teach me about the meaning of the life? And how to think?"

"It's useless. You might be a professor, but an ignorant one."

"I used to only bring one passenger with m to the Room," Stalker interjects.

"I couldn't for the life of me understand why, but now I think I do."

The water near them was dirty. It was lined with trash and filled with garbage. A scrap of a page hung just underneath the surface. Moss grew around the water. Frogs croaked and leaves shook with the wind. Trees moaned and branches gasped.

An old chandelier acted as a wind chime. Shards of glass fell from the old and broken windows.

"You ask why I never use the Room? So I never become as miserable as either of you."

He laid his head back on the layer of cold moss.

"I don't understand anymore. Whether it is an incapacity to or misinformation, I'm not sure."

"Whatever it is, it eludes me."

"Say someone goes on a journey. He leaves his family and friends behind. He leaves for a long time. He likes where he is. But, if he doesn't go back now, he won't be able to later. If he returns, he'll have the worst pain imaginable. Where he is now isn't stressful or tiring. It's paradise. What does he do?"

"Why should he leave? He's in paradise."

"If he returns, he will have his friends and family to help him with his pain. If he stays, he'll never see them again, which is pain in itself. If he returns, he'll be stressed and tired. That's better than not. No pressure makes a man soft."

"What if he wants to stay in paradise before going back?"

"Nothing says he can't. He just has to leave before he misses the opportunity."

With that, Stalker got up.

xxx

"Why are you so idiotic?"

The oh-so-familiar voice questioned.

He was in an all-white area.

He was, until the colors started to change.

"Oh, so 22 isn't 5? Damn, I thought I had that," He quipped.

"This is an interesting form of torture."

"What makes you zink zis is torture?"

"I'm dead," Harry smiled. "What better way to get at me than to have my brain talk to itself with its only love interest?"

Fleur was inwardly shocked.

"I'm not zhe empty zing you call a brain. I'm Fleur!" She said, mildly affronted.

"You can't prove that," His soft voice answered. "Just let me die. The real world was bad enough. I don't need this, too."

He turned away from her.

"Well, like it or not, I need you!" She ran up and linked her arms around his stomach in a backwards hug.

"Why?"

"Why?" She mimicked amusedly.

"Because you're Harry. My Harry. Zat's all Zat matters. I don't want to live without you. I'm not sure I can." She confessed heatedly.

"If you're real-"

 _Slap!_ "Ow!"

"Okay, fine. You're real. How?"

"Magic."

Harry's face grew a mile long.

"When you tell me what you needed Krum for, I'll tell you!" Fleur said enthusiastically.

"I can live with that."

"Urgh! So insufferable. I'm leaving now. And when I do, you do. Understand?

And Harry?"

"Yes?"

"It was nice to hear your voice again."

She didn't wait for a reply.

And then he was alone. The warm glow inside him began to wane.

"Yeah, but..."

Everything became white again.

"How do I get back?"


	11. Chapter 11

"May everything come true. May they believe. And may they laugh at their own passions. For what the call passion is not really the energy of thr soul, but merely friction between the soul and the outside world. But, above all, may they believe in themselves and become as helpless as children. For softness is great and strength is worthless. When a man is born, he is soft and pliable. When he dies, he is soft and hard. When a tree grows, it is soft and pliable. But when it is dry and hard, it dies. Hardness and strength are death's companions. Flexibility and softness are the embodiment of life. That which has become hard shall not triumph."

-STALKER (1979)

oioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioi

"You're going back?"

"No, I'm going to stay here and die. Of course I'm going back, Strelok."

"It will hurt more than anything."

"I know."

The renowned man sighs.

"When was the last time you did anything with the Anglia?"

"I'm not sure. It's been a while." He admits.

"It has a conscience, Harry." His teacher reminds him.

"What do you want me to do? Get up and leave to go see it the moment I return? If I return? This shit could all be in my head. What do I know that's real?" He questions.

"Those two men didn't believe in the Room. But they came all that way, just for a maybe. They even paid for it. They left their homes. They made sacrifices, even if they were temporary."

"What do I have to sacrifice? I'm already a martyr of sorts. What else do I have? What can I give?" Harry cries.

"You have me. If you leave, I might not be able to go with you, Harry." The Stalker warns.

"Why not? You've been with me all this time!" Harry protested.

"You died, Harry. When you did, our connection was cut off."

"But I'll be alive again if this works!"

"I won't be." Strelok replied bluntly.

"So, there's nothing? Is that what you're telling me? I have to lose you?" His voice shook.

"We'll meet again, soon."

"I can't go back. I don't have magic. I don't have friends. I don't have _you._ "

"Oh, what I wouldn't give for another one of those stones. I guess that's another perversion from the Granter." He sighs under his breath.

"I had nothing in the Zone," The aged stalker began. "Sure, I traded with Sidorovich. I talked with a few stalkers, took jobs. I met Barkeep and Sakharov. I organised the team to invade Pripyat.

But I had nobody. Porcupine was gone, even then. I went through the CNPP twice, once with people I don't remember, friends I don't remember, and again by myself.

You know. I was alone."

"You don't know how hard it was to say 'no'. To give in. But I didn't. I said no and destroyed the C-Con. And I left. Was I right? Wrong? I'll never know. But I survived. I made it through. Living is a struggle. I can't stand it, not being there. Sure, I was alone. I had nobody. But I was in the Zone. It was like home. Now, I don't even have that. I only have memories. And you, but not for too much longer, it seems."

"I taught you what I know. I taught you how to stalk. Taught you to avoid mental influences. I've shown you my life, my memories. And to think, I was the one to shoot you.

Watch out for your Headmaster. There is more than meets the eye."

"I'll try."

"And Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Win."

xxx

"Hey, Marked One. Got any loot?"

"Not this time, I'm afraid."

He sets the bag on the small table.

"How did you end up here, Sidorovich?"

The trader sat back in his chair and interlaced his fingers together.

"That's a question people don't ask here. But, I'll tell you."

"Ever hear of Samosely? I was young in '86. Nearing 30, actually. Not bad, eh?" The old man chuckled to himself.

"Anyway, I earned my keep here. Worked on a farm. Then, a few soldiers came to visit. "Hey, you've got to leave. Temporary evacuation."

Three days, they said. Don't worry about the pets. They'll be okay. I refused to go, and the soldiers left. Everyone got on their buses and drove off.

I kept growing my plants and tending to my animals. Life didn't change. At least, not until '06. So, I found this little bunker here not too far away from where I lived, and decided to shack up in it.

I met Wolf a couple of years later. He helped me fortify the few houses we have, and even brought a few outsiders."

"And, that's my story. Don't go asking others theirs. That's how you kick the bucket. Understand?"

"Why didn't you go?"

"You think I'm going to just leave my home? It was all I knew. If it was really 3 days, then it wouldn't have mattered for us in the country."

"I can't be so sure."

"What do you mean?"

"With my decisions."

"You have bolts, don't you? If not, I have a few. For a price, of course." The merchant grinned toothily.

"You're not sure? Throw a bolt. You'll be sure then."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. Need anything else? If you want to chat more, come back later. I have a shipment coming in around now. Can't have a third party, you know?"

"Thank you."

"Yeah, sure. Bring me loot next time, Marked One! It's how I make my living."

"No guarantees."

And the heavy door slammed shut.

xxx

He sucks in a deep breath, and then lets it out. He lays there, resting.

"Tired?" A cheerful voice asked.

He opened his eyes a smidgeon to see Hermione Granger standing at the foot of the bed.

"When I can afford to be," He replied slowly.

"Why are you here?"

She moved over to his side of the mattress.

Harry began to sit up, but couldn't.

The bookworm helped him up, all the while chastising him.

"You can't be doing things like this," She scolded quietly.

"The nurse won't like it."

He looked up at her from his slumped position.

"It's only for a little while. I need to tell you something,"

At her reluctance, he added, "Come closer, I don't bite."

"A long time ago, I met a brave man named Vanya. We were in this place. Words can't describe it. It's the most beautiful place I'll see in my life. It hurts, to not be there. To not feel the wind sway the high grass, to not hear distant wind chimes or shaking leaves. I wake up here. I go to sleep here. That is one of my biggest regrets. I can't go back. The sunsets and sunrises were one of a kind; I'll never forget them."

She remained silent, although at times a bit inquisitive.

"He was dying, Vanya. I saw him there, on the ground, bleeding out. I patched him up and got him to a doctor. What was he dying from? I never asked. Looked like marks of some kind. Claws, maybe. He was out for a few weeks. I came back every now and then to check on him. And one day, he asked me, 'Why did you save me?' I didn't know how to answer, so I didn't. Later on, he was healthy again, and we left. We left, and it killed him."

"It killed him?"

His eyes flicked over to her from the floor.

"You ever hear of Chernobyl?"

The question caught her off balance.

"I-uh, I think so. Some town blew up?" She blushed from embarrassment.

"You didn't look into it?"

"It was in passing. And besides, I was busy that day!"

Harry's face grew resigned. "Help me off." He motioned to the hospital bed.

"No! You have to stay here!"

"When was the last time you were happy, for real?"

"I-"

He didn't give her time to answer.

"Help me up." He requested softly.

She looked slightly distraught, but didn't move.

"Please, Hermione. I'll take the fall."

She choked.

"You'll what?"

"I'll take the blame if we get caught. Dumbledore doesn't like me anyway."

He sighed.

"Hermione?"

She glanced at the frail boy.

"Can we go?"

xxx

"I need air, not the shit in this castle. We're going to the roof." He boldly said in his hospital gown as they strode through the corridors.

"Harry, I-"

"Chernobyl!" He outbursted suddenly, cutting her protest off.

"26th of April, 1986. Ukraine. A couple of employees were working in a plant. What happened?"

"I told you, I don't know."

"Guess." He prompted.

"It explodes, right?"

"You're right and wrong. Bzzz! Thanks for playing!" His energetic voice filled the empty walls.

They continued up a few flights of stairs, careful not to run into anyone. The duo almost did a few times, but Harry was quick on the uptake, and they were able to creep away. Everything was dank and damp. The higher floors were humid. The air was moist.

"Long or short?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just answer."

"Long."

The hospital escapee takes a deep breath.

"The employees ran a test one day. The most agreed upon accounts are that the power level dropped significantly below what was needed to function. So, they restarted it. Restarting it gave it too much power too quickly. So they tried to stop the influx. The button pushed, the A-Z button, worked as it should have. The rods used in the reactor were tipped with graphite. When the button was pushed, the graphite rods were lowered, and that opened a whole new can of worms.

Boom!" He motioned with his hands.

"And radiation spreads. Officials go to the nearby city and check the levels of it. Several thousand times the norm. Everyone was permanently evacuated, even when told otherwise, and now the place is mostly abandoned." He concluded his story as they reached the final level.

"What does a power plant have to do with happiness and your friend?"

"Riddle me this - What happens when a person is exposed to 100 roentgens of radiation?"

She turned to him and responds, "How do you expect me to know? I don't know much about radiation, just that it exists and it's dangerous."

Harry's expression becomes exasperated. "Okay, fine. Radiation sickness. No dice?"

She shook her head.

"We have to be getting close." The bushy-haired girl remarked.

"Why? Nervous?"

"Because I'm walking and talking to a Gryffindor exile who was recently hospitalised and left the Hospital Wing of his own accord. In case it slipped your notice, people don't do that."

"I care nothing for other people. I haven't for a long time. Their actions are fickle and insignificant. They have brains but don't use them. It's as if they are for decoration!"

"You're an outlier in that regard." She reminded him as they stepped out onto the Astronomy Tower.

Unfortunately, a few students were there, studying. Upon the two's arrival, they hurriedly packed their things and scrambled.

"That gives us, say, ten minutes. I'm okay with that. You should leave. They'll be coming."

"No, I'm interested now."

He raised an eyebrow and looked at her.

"Oh? You're interested?"

She nodded.

"Use Legilimency on me." He demanded.

"No!" His former friend denied.

"Hermione, we are running out of time! Do it!"

"I don't know how!"

"For a start, raise your wand and say ' _Legilimens_ '!"

"Ugh." And she did.

It took them a few tries, within which Harry bled a little bit, but it was manageable.

The roof of the Astronomy Tower became slippery and wet. The cloudy skies above began to release a downpour.

"Hermione, hurry up! It's starting to rain!"

She twirled her wand and repeated the incantation.

And she was thrust into his mind.

Teachers rushed up the stairs of the Astronomy Tower. Dumbledore led them. Nurse Pomfrey was with them as well, after making sure everything was tended to in the Hospital Wing.

The small group found a lone girl, later realised to be Hermione Granger, crying and desolate. In her hand, she held a tiny, orange sphere. It looked as if it was a miniature fireball. It was the only light given off in the small Tower. She held the artifact close to herself, as if it would be taken. Her soaked uniform clung to her body. Tears ran down her cheeks, mixing with raindrops. Her eyes brimmed.

"Miss Granger?" Professor McGonagall asked, surprised.

"Where am I?"

She had only foggy memories. And of those, the most reminiscent one was of a voice telling her it forgave her. That it was okay. She didn't have to worry about anything; at least for a little while. Everything was okay. She was happy. In the cold and dampness, she was warm. And it meant everything.

xxx

He missed them. He missed the Zone. It was as if the entire world was gray and bleak, and the Zone was full of color. As if he was deaf, and he could hear in the Zone.

Sometimes, Harry didn't want to think. He became sad and mute. In the past, he suffered alone. With Fleur, that changed. She was used to his moods. And when he was quiet and stony, she hugged him. At times, they stood there together, not saying a word, just embracing. His stomach had that weird feeling again, and he didn't know how to feel.

He had returned to the Hospital Wing shortly after leaving the Astronomy Tower. He didn't want to; he had to. He loved watching the skies. It calmed him. It reminded him of Strelok, that night when they watched the sunset together in the car. It always made him sad. Sad, but content.

A few minutes after his return, Professor McGonagall came in to speak with the nurse. From what he heard, it was mostly trivial conversation. He didn't dare to look.

After their talk, the Deputy Headmistress left, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

This place was too stressful. He wished he wasn't here; he began to hate. Come to think of it, he never really hated anyone, because they never knew everything. How they behaved and functioned from their beliefs or what they knew to be true was a different matter altogether. It was still worthy of respect. Staying true to yourself was always noble in his mind, no matter the side.

Bellatrix Lestrange wasn't really _evil_. She was _devoted_. The things she did, while they were horrible, were for a reason.

What she did, she thought to be right. Torturing people into insanity is a terrible thing; and yet, it showed her lengths.

The Monolith were driven. They committed all of their atrocities for a rock. Harry sighed. He needed someone to talk to. He was Writer, and he needed a Professor.

But, no one sprang out from behind the privacy curtain. No one suddenly visited and decided to shoot the shit. Fleur tries to visit him, he knows she does. But she hasn't been able to recently. Not with all that's been going on.

The boy frowned. What was the date? Were they close to the Third Task? Would he be able to participate? If this happened a few months ago, he would've asked another Gryffindor.

He didn't blame anyone for getting kicked out of Gryffindor Tower. It was just the way things were. If he couldn't adapt to his situation, then how could he call himself human?

A shuffle of footsteps brought him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see an old man, dressed in ripped camouflague clothing. A gun was slung over his shoulder. His eyes widened when he realised who the man was.

The elderly man gasped when he saw Harry. He recoiled and took a breath before saying, "Strelok?"

xxx

Hermione was bored, as incredible as that was. It was a long day for her. Normally, studying helps, but not today, it seems. She stood up from the straight backed chair and began to make her way to the Hospital Wing. She hasn't talked to Harry in a long time. Maybe she could finally make things right? As energetic as he was, Ron wasn't her speed. She missed Harry.

She regretted the choice she made during the Drawing. It was a choice that said, 'I'm going to abandon you.' Nevermind the circumstances, she would never leave her friend again. Not for anything.

Hermione brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes and entered the Hospital Wing.

She waved to Ms. Pomfrey and walked over to where she knew Harry was. Later that evening, she would wonder on just _how_ she knew where Harry was.

With a breath, she pulled the curtain aside and went into the small space to greet her former friend.

"Harry?"

The boy's eyes widened when he saw her.

His face broke out into a grin as he exclaimed, "I thought you were dead!"

The bushy-haired girl became confused. "Why would I be dead?" She queried.

Harry's face lost it's grin and happiness, and reverted to what it was before.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'll be off for a few days, the stuff Madam Pomfrey hands out really screws with me. How are you?"

As it turned out, seeing the Swamp Doctor flick his hair back (which didn't at all work), and begin to talk excitedly about his studies, Harry felt weird. It wasn't that his talk of studies and the excitement worried Harry, it was that the old man was talking about _Hogwarts_.

"So, anyways, I decided to come back, and-"

"Come back where?" He interrupted.

"Here, Harry." Doctor said slowly.

"Why?"

"Are you saying I can't come back?" He retorted.

"No, it's just-"

"Harry Potter, listen to me, and listen good,"

The doctor leaned towards him and spoke irritably.

"What I do is..."

And his speech faded. Harry heard nothing. Doctor's mouth was moving. But he didn't hear. He couldn't.

And then, all of a sudden, a voice came. It was like it was surrounding him. It repeated and repeated, dozens and dozens of times, until he understood.

"So, anyways, I decided to come back!" It said enthusiastically.

The sentence echoed.

"I decided..."

"Come back..."

"Come back."

"Come back."

"Come back!"

He gasped, and his jaw dropped.

He fell back onto the pillows and knew nothing.

xxx

It was a little weird to Hermione what Harry told her. After the explanation he gave, it made sense. It still put her on edge.

Halfway through her impromptu recollection of the day's events, her audience gasped and passed out.

She called for Madam Pomfrey immediately.

xxx

Something crackled nearby. The buildings were wet and dark. The streets were empty. The playgrounds were unused. A few cars were parked along the sides of the road. Some were untouched, others broken into. He sees something move. He moves to find a hiding place and watch.

The something appears to be a figure holding another something. A few long seconds later, he discovered that it was a woman, holding a baby. She ran down the street, looking wildly for something.

"Anyone? Please! I have a child!" She yells.

An engine spurs in the distance.

She runs in the direction where the sound comes from.

"Attention, dear comrades!"

A female voice loudly states.

"The City Council of People's Deputies..."

And it fades.

He crouches lower behind the car, looking and watching.

A fog sets in. It covers everything.

Soon, he can only see within 20 feet.

"It becomes necessary...temporary evacuation..."

Things creep in the mist. Faint screams are heard.

"Comrades!" The voice becomes distorted.

"Do not forget to turn off electric and gas appliances! Turn off the water taps!"

He hears something drag. No, not drag. _Crawl._

He looks through the car window. He sees it move. And it's _fast._

He opens the car door and leaps in, slamming the door before it can get to him.

It pounds the glass. It stares at him from within a heavily cracked mask. It punches and kicks and throws itself at the car, until the glass begins to break.

"Harry?" It whispers, almost growling.

"Har- _ockk!"_ It chokes on something.

"Har-ock!"

It chants as it reaches in. The red flesh on it bubbles and boils away, to fall on the ground.

"Har-ock!"

"Go away!" He commands.

It doesn't heed.

Instead, the thing's face cocks to one side, and it stops trying to get in. It almost seems as if it's _regarding_ him.

And then it talks again.

This time, it says something different.

And it scares him.

"Strelok?" It snarls.


	12. Chapter 12

"You're going to see a lot of drug-seeking behavior in your practice. And there's a reason - it works."

 **For future reference, the language in this chapter will hereby be typed as follows.**

 **:hello, how are you?:**

 **:i am alright.:**

 **:good!:**

oioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioi

10:12 A.M, March 3rd. The year? What purpose would be served in knowing? All a year is is a number. It's all it ever was, and all it will ever be. What does change is perception. How the world is seen is a drastic and heavy factor in one's life. Why?

Many reasons. Why is the time and day mentioned? They're like the absence of the year. What they do do is grab attention. When I write the date again, year withheld, will you note it? Will you trust what I write?

Does time have a hand in the plot?

Will it?

Has it before?

Nevertheless, time is a constant. The fourth dimension. Whether or not you ignore its presense, it is _important._

Time is involved in all things, regardless of their use or function. Seconds tick, the minute hand moves, the cuckoo clock jumps every hour.

9:23 P.M., September 20th. The date and time I write this chapter. Why mention it? It's useless. And yet, from your perspective, it could mean everything.

I could die in the next 5 minutes, and this story would never be finished. Does the story being finished have an effect on you?

And if it goes on an indeterminable hiatus?

People are sad when loved ones die. People are sad at this very moment, somewhere on Earth. Others are happy, ecstatic. Babies get born, funerals are held, marriages are conceived.

What about you? What do you feel?

xxx

"What have you got there?"

Writer looks at the two men behind him. Within his hand, a pistol. He holds it with uncertainty. His hand doesn't shake or tremble; it's his face.

"You can't go in there with a gun!" Stalker protests.

"You'll be killed, and you'll doom us!"

"Remember the tanks!" Professor speaks up.

"Put it away, I beg you." Stalker continues.

"Don't you understand? If anything happens, I can get you out. But like this...

Please, I beg you. And who... who are you going to shoot in there?"

Writer looks down at the pistol in his hand and returns it to his pocket.

xxx

The second Hogwarts Champion is sitting in the library at a table, pretending to read. What he is actually doing is thinking. He chose a secluded section of the library, one hidden away with the help of tall and looming bookshelves. He flips a page every few seconds. On the table is a glass of water. He took a drink every now and then. The Hogwarts librarian didn't allow food or drink in the library; it was just as well that he had hidden in the corner, else he'd be kicked out.

Harry had a plan. Today was the day. He wasn't fully recovered, but that was alright. He didn't need to be. He still moved with aches and pains, but nothing too bad; he didn't need a crutch or anything. He looked up from the book he was holding and looked around before leaving quickly. He had to do this alone.

xxx

Draco Malfoy sat in his quarters, writing a letter to his father. The ink almost seemed to be stagnant. The quill hadn't been touched. This was his third letter. He was irritated. Just when he decided to begin again, his door opened with a squeak. He sighed and got up to shut it; it always did this. He couldn't do anything about it, either. Permanent Transfiguration wasn't his specialty.

It was incessant! Why should he, Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy line, put up with this?! He deserved better! At the very least, a functioning door!

Before leaving his desk, he cast the Revealing Spell. It would do no good to be compromised in some way; he was an important person, as was his father. Who knew what could happen, or who had it in for them.

Just as he got to the door to "close" it (it would just open in a half hour again anyway), a hand snuck around his neck, and metal met his skull.

"You're going to listen. And you will do nothing."

The person holding him sounded familiar, and he placed their voice in an instant, as he shuffled to close and block the door behind them.

"Do you understand?"

The metal was shoved harder onto his head and the pressure increased. Something clicked into place.

"You will die tonight. No trace. They wouldn't suspect me, no magic." He laughed to himself.

"I won't ask again, Draco."

All of a sudden, everything became bleak. The room seemed to shift. The floor became distant. All he heard was the clicking. The clicking and the door, over and over. And he felt the pressure. The pressure of whatever Potter held. It was cold. Cold and unfeeling. A mist overtook them. The air became heavy and oppressive.

"We're running out of time." His enemy whispered, almost directly into his ear.

It became a rhythm. The whispers, the creaking, the clicking. His room became red, taking the place of the fog cloaking the walls. There was a knock on the door. Below it, light. The light traveled across the room, landing on the both of them. The mist amplified it, blinding him.

"Running out of time?" He questioned anxiously, looking over to the cast-out.

There they stood, hanging over his table. It was the only thing not red. Instead, it was a normal brown. The knocks became more frequent and more hurried, louder and harder. It was as if his door would come down at any second.

And then, nothing. The knocking ceased. The mist disappeared. Potter vanished. His room wasn't red anymore. He was alone. Everything was normal again. He wondered if it ever happened. If a few screws weren't loose upstairs. If it was a dream. He felt something moving on his leg. With surprise, he looked down.

His pocket was _shaking._ To be precise, it was vibrating! Draco reached into it slowly and cautiously. A round object found its way into his hand, and he pulled it out to inspect it.

It was a fire-like yellow. Almost as if it was the sun! Touching it made him feel something. But what he felt was like it was far. Like he couldn't get it back. He didn't know what it was. Would he?

He shrugged and put it back into his pocket. Strangely enough, one of his papers were missing. One of the few he had neglected to burn.

xxx

He found himself in a long and cramped hallway, with a dank ceiling that shook every so often. Plane engines roared overhead. In his hand, he held a rifle. He slung it over his shoulder and crept down the corridor. Distant bombs rained horribly. The paintings on the walls gave the impression that they would fly off at any second. The clothes he wore were dirty and in poor condition. The building he was in had poor lighting. The only way he was able to tell time was through the hole in the battered roof, and hardly at that. With the rainclouds covering the skies, it could be anytime.

A hunk of a man stood at the end of the hallway. He held his gun down and watched Harry patiently. As he began making his way towards the other, the unknown man leaned forward and asked, "Andrei, are you ready?" His voice had a weariness to it. He looked and sounded old. Harry figured that that wasn't such a bad thing in this place; age brings wisdom and experience. The last thing he needed was someone who didn't know what they were doing.

He hoped he wouldn't slip somewhere and fall on something. With these conditions, that would be an easy infection, and he knew help wouldn't be close.

Dodging some fallen furniture as he jumped over a hole in the floor, Harry nodded to him, and without another word, they made their way deeper into the recesses of the place. Four men stood in a room before them. What the room was before the siege wasn't able to be made out. All that mattered now was its' current purpose, whether that be serve a family dinner or hold someone for interrogation.

One of the men was dressed differently than the others. His uniform was grey and wrinkled as he sat on his knees, looking from one of his captors to the other, pleading. "Don't kill me!" He rasped desperately.

The other three men didn't understand or pay attention to him as they held their argument. Despite their language barrier, the facial expression and body language was clear.

One of the men's voice rumbled deeply in his throat as he fought the issue.

"He wants mercy!"

The man he was arguing with turned to the one begging.

"You do not deserve mercy!" He delivered a terrible slap, knocking him back.

The third aimed his weapon at him as he tried to get back onto his knees, and kicked him back.

"What mercy did you show to our people?" He questioned as he lined up his sights.

"Wait, wait! He may help us!"

"Help us?" The man retorted with despise. He pulled the trigger, releasing a fatal shot into his skull. His body went limp and fell back onto the soaked wooden floor.

"He can die for us. Mudak!" The aggressive soldier spat on the corpse and left.

Harry and the soldier from earlier jogged past them onto the roof. The man who tried stopping the other from firing followed them. It seemed he and the older man knew each other.

The planes kept up their relentless assault. Buildings crumbled. Debris flew everywhere. "This isn't war. This is murder."

His ally thought differently as they continued to the other side. "This is how you end a war, Kursov."

The aforementioned man refused to give up. They hastily descended a few flights of stairs.

"This is madness. Our rockets are tearing the city apart!" The loud banging outside served to accent his point.

"Get inside." The old man motioned with his barrel. "Stop. Shhhhh! Move quietly. Take them by surprise."

They approached a low hanging wall, opposite it a gigantic hole overlooking the streets below. Rain poured down in torrents. A voice spoke and enunciated clearly as beeping was heard closely after. Upon closer inspection, one of the grey men was pressing something fervently, the pressing provoking the beeping. After a minute or so, the top part of the machine swung out to the right, and he shoved it back with his forearm. The other members of his squad hung nearby, listening intently. One didn't, standing by the makeshift balcony, watching the chaos below. The rain flicked down off of the innards of the collapsed walls onto his face, making him wipe his eyes every other moment under a dark and stainless helmet.

They were outnumbered, but they also had the upper hand with stealthiness. Pulling out a grenade, Harry primed it and let loose a second before it went off. He made sure to hold it against himself to somewhat mute the click. The lone one was far away enough to survive the impact, but was blown out of the room through the window, and fell stories to the road below.

They checked everywhere for any survivors. Later, it was found to be a sitting room. Blood dripped down from the narrow ceiling.

With every explosion felt, more and more of the building was no more.

"Look out!"

"Watch your head!"

Two built men ran up, yelling their warnings before anyone could get hurt from any loose chunks.

After a while, they formed up and left. Kursov found another staircase. Only, it was guarded. As they fought to the lower levels, more and more pieces of the walls and ceiling came down.

"The building is collapsing around us!" Kursov screams fearfully.

"The area is heavily defended!" The old man shouts.

"Andrei, throw a molotov down there! Burn them!" He demands.

Harry rummages around in his pockets for a spare lighter. In doing so, one of the two men tosses him a bottle with a rag stuffed into the top. He finds a square lighter and lights it aflame before hurling it down the stairwell. The defending soldiers have no time to react to the improvised attack, and as such, burn to a crisp. One lives, but loses control of his legs to the flame.

The old man shoots him before he even thinks of retrieving his sidearm.

The team trades some of their guns and ammunition for the grey soldiers'. It was like every weapon was falling apart in a matter of minutes. They push on, down and down, deeper and deeper.

Suddenly, a crux of fire bursts onto them, killing a few of their men.

"Take out that nest! Throw another molotov, grenades, anything!" The old man cries.

"Andrei!"

Harry looks up.

xxx

"Harry! Wake up! You placed second!" Fleur's enthusiastic voice squealed. He blinks and sits up slowly. His left arm is heavily scarred and he can only see out of one eye.

He glances over to the French girl and quietly responds, "That's great, but I can't feel my legs."

In an instant, her cheery demeanor faded into confusion.

"What do you mean? Are they asleep?"

"I don't know."

She leaves worriedly and quickly returns with Madam Pomphrey.

"Ah, you're awake! Nasty business, that Tournament. And you still have to compete." She shakes her head as she begins waving her wand and casting diagnostic spells.

"I'm not dead yet." Harry replied, grinning.

"You came pretty close, Potter. Where'd you get the idea to have a barbeque?" Words, charts, and numbers all appeared before her in a matter of seconds. The nurse frowned as she looked over them, growing concerned.

"Seemed like a great day for it." Harry answered sarcastically, to her amusement.

"To be serious..." He trailed off.

"Well, it was a shot at winning."

"I hope it was worth it," She replied.

"You've caused extensive damage to your limbs."

"I can see that."

"Enough cheek, I'm reporting this to the Headmaster."

His attempts at humor vanished and the boy became fearful as she pocketed her wand and left.

"Wait, how bad?"

She paused midstride and turned back to look at her patient.

"Professor Dumbledore will brief you."

"Oh, Harry. You'll be okay, you'll see."

Fleur patted his arm reassuringly.

"I hope so, Fleur."

xxx

Everything was dark. The room was empty, except for one body. There were no windows and no doors. The only time the room had any light was when the guard came by once a day to throw food down into it. There were no furnishings. She did nothing but sit. And what a shame it was, for her well endowments were wasted in this place. She had long blonde hair, and the most startling, piercing blue eyes. The one thing she didn't have was a name. No name and nothing to remember; the only thing she could remember was this cell, this prison.

The food she received was absymal. It was moldy at times, but she persevered. Every day around the same time, a little gap appeared in the upper right corner of the room. Having nowhere else to go, she used the gap for waste and hoped it didn't lead elsewhere. After a few minutes, it disappeared until the following day. She was grateful, if you could imagine that. This prison gave her time to think. It gave her time to think of inventions, of escape plans, of tactics. A name for herself never crossed her mind; she didn't need one. The only hint of anything was a small scratch in the wall. It was scraggly, but looked to be a 7, or perhaps a symbol of some sort.

She racked her mind for the different possibilites. Maybe it had to do with her age? She shook her head. She didn't know how old she was, apart from her hair not being gray or white.

After a time, the 7 vanished, leading her to wonder if it ever was there, or if it was just her mind inventing things. She never felt any emotion. She only felt the rumbling of hunger and the dullness of fatigue. It wasn't a fatigue of needing to sleep; it was a fatigue of her day-to-day life in here. Wake up, twiddle her thumbs, wait for the guard, wait for the gap, sleep, wash, rinse, repeat. It became monotonous. She felt sapped. Drained. And then the day began anew. There was no break to this routine, no disarray. There were only the smooth stone walls and her imagination.

She faked being sick once. It didn't end well. She laid there, pretending to shake and retching and groaning. It did her no good. Nothing came of it. No guard seemed to notice, or if they did, they didn't care in the slightest.

She didn't know her surroundings, where she was. She didn't know or remember anyone. The only thing she knew was this place.

She worried about malnutrition. How couldn't she, when she got the same type of food every day, for as long as she could remember, and probably for a while before that? A lumpy, hard piece of bread doesn't do anyone favors in that department. As solitary and confined as it was, it was her life.

However, the girl did find a way to keep track of time, or at least, her sleeping patterns. With every piece of bread, she dropped a singular crumb from it onto the floor, and eventually formed a straight line.

There was no upkeep or maintenance, only her, so it proved to be invaluable. She was up to 137 crumbs since she had the idea.

Unfortunately, it was a long time before she had had it, a long time in which she was sure that number was significantly higher. It wouldn't do to dwell on it. She sighed and leaned back against the cold and hard wall.

She didn't know any words or languages. Staying on that train of thought, she began developing her own. It was a series of hand signals and facial expressions. A spoken language could always be overheard. This way, there could be no eavesdropping, and no outside understanding of the message being conveyed.

She practiced it and had conversations with herself.

The prisoner wished she could remember her dreams. She never did; they were always blackness. It was no different than her reality, as fervently as she hoped.

In the prison of Var, this was everyone's nightmare. In the dead of night, she swore she could just barely hear the screams.

She knew they weren't a figment of her imagination. They couldn't be. They were too tortured to be fabricated; her mind wouldn't be able to project that much anguish.

She tried everything to escape. She knocked on the walls and listened for weak points or anything hollow. She tapped on the floor. She tried climbing up above to the trapdoor. No matter how hard her attempts were, she always failed.

The makers of Var knew this. They valued patience. In time, everything broke down, including the spirit. Anyone who was brought in the night before would howl and yell and aggravate the poor guard that tossed down food. They were incessant.

Over the coming days and weeks, they gradually ceased to be nothing but murmurs.

And then one day, the door opened.

xxx

"Harry, I'm not sure how to inform you. Your right leg is... greviously injured from the flame. So much so, that you may never regain full use of it again." Dumbledore's sad and ancient eyes regarded him.

"Even with the use of magic?" The boy asked desperately.

"Healers don't like to operate on Squibs. There's a reason you always see poor Argus limping around. The magical community doesn't know what would happen; there's no magic for any healing spell to interact with, no core, or at least one not drained. They don't want to take any risks." Albus concluded grimly.

"Then there's nothing?" Harry said wearily.

The Headmaster shook his head sadly.

"You will still use it, of course. You'll just need a cane or a crutch of some sort." The old man replied cheerfully, in a half-hearted attempt to raise his student out of his stupor.

"Hm, you're right, I suppose. It's not all bad. I could have had to get it amputated." He mused.

"Fortunately for you, Madam Pomphrey has a few things of this nature for patients who need a lengthier recovery. In other words Harry, take it easy."

"What about my arm? The scars?" He wondered inquisitively.

"We'll administer some cream, and it'll be fine in a few days. Just take some with you and apply it every morning and night."

"And my eye?" He motioned to his left eye which was half-closed.

"It should heal. Check with Madam Pomphrey in the morning if there's no difference. She'll sort you out, don't worry!" Albus reassured the young man.

"Thank you, sir." Harry nodded to Albus.

"Anytime, Harry," He gathered himself and prepared to leave the Wing. "Oh, and take care." Dumbledore said amiably.

"I certainly will, Professor!" He called after him as he strode down the hall.

"I certainly will." He grinned to himself.


	13. Chapter 13

"When a man thinks of the past, he comes kinder. But the main thing...is that you must believe."

ioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioi

He began to regularly carry his wand-infused gun with him. It was just one of those things that became a practice, a hobby, akin to walking your dog or watering a houseplant. It was routine.

And why shouldn't it be, when everyone else could potentially cast a spell that ended fatally? He had no other means of defending himself, as barbaric as it was seen. It lowered his status among those in his year. They'd mutter behind his back anytime he was in the school.

Harry had to practice drawing it from a pocket, both inner and outer, while simultaenously leaning on his wooden cane. The cane was nothing special; he didn't pull a Lucius and have it engraved or anything. It wasn't art. He used it for the purpose it was made for. His limps made him out to be pathetic, and his dislike began to fester. To be seen as barbaric and to be pitied, even as a Squib, was just barely above being a Muggle.

Fleur's behavior didn't change. In fact, nothing really did, apart from her helpfulness anytime he ever seemed unsteady. She helped him along when he was slow and guided other people out of his path in tight walkways.

He always wore pants and long-sleeved clothing, despite the temperature. Hot or cold, it was what he wore to hide the scars. He meant to talk to Dumbledore to try and resume at least some of his classes. Herbology and Potions didn't much require spellwork, apart from a few exceptions. For the others, he could read their theory. Knowledge was an advantage, especially in one of the top wizarding schools of Europe.

His arms sometimes tingled; he didn't understand what the feeling meant. It confused him. He thought on it as he spoke the password to the gargoyle and ascended the stairs to the Headmaster's office, knocking on the door before entering.

"Come in!" The old professor said jovially, leaning forward in his chair.

"Care for a lemon drop?" He beamed as Harry made his way into the room.

"I suppose." Dumbledore handed him one after he sat down and kept the others within reach.

"What is it you need, Harry?" Albus asked.

"Sir, I was wondering..." Harry trailed off.

But it wasn't out of nervousness. He got up out of his seat and wandered over to the windows overlooking the grounds, leaning on his cane and looking idly.

The Forbidden Forest was radioactive? What could cause such a thing? Was the sensor broken? Were the Goblins that still resided there okay?

Radiation isn't always a bad thing. It is used in chemotherapy and in some cases, can be utilized to somewhat sterilise food. Strelok had heard things from other Stalkers. They had said that the plant was so long, radiation got lost in it. That it never fully shut down until years after the first accident. He told Harry that he missed the Zone. Harry did, too. More than he thought.

It would be years before he could go back. Before it would even _happen._ Before he could meet Strelok again. He just had to live until then, as a crippled Squib in a magic-dominated world.

Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were leaving soon. The Triwizard Tournament was officially over. The Champions had each gotten their standing and, depending on what it was, their reward. Harry had been given 300 Galleons. Viktor was awarded 500. Fleur and Cedric were 3rd place, both receiving 150. He was content with it. It wasn't like his legs or arms would be healed from it. He was sad that Fleur was leaving. His Fleur. She was one of the reasons he still came, and she would soon be gone.

Dumbledore waited understandingly.

"Can I be re-entered into a few classes?" Harry questioned, not turning away from the glass.

"You can't use magic, lad." The Headmaster reminded jovially.

"So?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"Perhaps Potions... Or Herbology? I'd suggest Divination, but that's not your cup of tea."

"Both Potions and Herbology would work fine, sir."

"Alright then, If you're sure. I'll speak to the professors and sort it out. They should expect you by the beginning of next week. One class will be in the morning and the other after lunch."

"That would be wonderful, Professor. Thank you."

"Anytime, Harry. Have a good day!"

"Oh!" Harry said suddenly, as he was leaving. He snatched a lemon drop before departing.

"Almost forgot to take one to go." He explained.

Albus smiled, happy to find someone who enjoyed the candies as much as he did.

xxx

No way out. She never left the place. The girl couldn't wish for anything better. Isolation was truly a neutral word; she came to tolerate Var, to not mind it, or at least, her cell. She became institutionalized. These walls became her walls. This room became her room. The constant darkness either killed her eyesight or helped it. She wasn't sure which anymore. Soon she could feel her way around with ease. To her shock, the 7 had reappeared. Only this time, in a different part of the room. She ran her fingers over it. The marking slid back in an instant. So did the floor beneath her. She fell soundlessly.

xxx

"Harry," Viktor breathed. They were both in the library. Harry sat at a table with a book in front of him. Viktor leaned on the table, as if he needed it for support. Harry seemed indifferent to his plight and flipped a page.

"Yes?" He asked softly.

"I wanted to talk. To say goodbye." His accented voice floated around them.

"Say goodbye?" The younger teen laughed mirthfully. "I thought you were better than that." His cheer vanished in an instant, and only seemed to pronounce his slightly sunken cheekbones.

"If you're going to go through all of this trouble, the least I can do is humor you," He sighed. "Sit down. Remember."

His foreign friend grew puzzled.

"Remember?"

xxx

Porcupine laid on a fallen tree, resting peacefully.

A young man approached him, watching the sunrise in front of them. They were on a peak overlooking a meadow, with fog that became golden from the suns' rays. A few buildings lay abandoned in the far distance.

"Ten years ago, they say a meteorite fell here," Porcupine began slowly.

"It destroyed everything. They searched for it but found nothing. Then people began to vanish."

"Vanish?"

His companion showed no sign of hearing the question and went on.

"Finally, it was decided... That the meteorite wasn't a meteorite. Authorities surrounded the area with barbed wire. Rumours were made that there was a place in this zone, the Zone, that gave you anything you wished. The police guarded the Zone like it was a national treasure."

"If it wasn't a meteorite, what was it?" He asked inquisitively.

"Nobody knows."

"What do you think?"

"It could have been a meteorite. For all I know, it could have been a rocket. Whatever the case may be, something happened in this place."

The middle-aged man shifted back, holding a thick branch. His follower dug his hands deeper into his coat, almost hugging himself.

"It's been a long time, Porcupine. Years."

"And it'll only continue to be. Time doesn't stop for you or me, or anyone."

"Is this where we part?"

The man looked over at him before returning his gaze to the sun. His eyes were squinted and his face wrinkled.

"So it seems, my student."

When he was young, Strelok was gentler. He loved nature and its' creatures. He often tended to young plants. Porcupine had seen his fascination and talent for plants and the Earth. Even now, he carried a twig from a wilting tree. He harvested saplings and branches, and helped wounded animals back to health once more. There was no better place for him than the Zone. Man wasn't there to disturb the harmony.

He sighed and reached into his pocket to retrieve a bolt. To him, this was his lucky bolt, for it looked brand new. No marks or carvings, no rust. He always used it first in his collection. It had never failed him.

He handed it to Porcupine and slowly walked off in a different direction than he emerged. A whisper lay in his wake, only becoming clear to his teacher later.

xxx

Harry smiled sadly and closed the book to begin his departure. He grabbed his cane and limped out undisturbed.

Viktor still sat, mesmirized. When he became aware of his surroundings again, the library was empty, and on the table was a silver bolt, brand new, rolling.

He had seen Harry, looking every inch as broken as he probably felt. He swore he would make this right, somehow. Nobody deserved that! The Tournament was the Tournament. What had happened had happened. Harry Potter was a worthy opponent, and Krum would make certain he would not be degraded.

The Bulgarian left the Hogwarts library for the last time.

xxx

The sensation of falling was like no other. Often times, it's like plummeting. Other times, it's as if you're gliding in the clouds, and everything is perfect.

This wasn't one of those such times. She didn't have any fluffy clouds impairing her vision, or a icy chill permeating her. The air wasn't light from the reduced oxygen. She wasn't in the sky. She was in Var. And she was falling.

How did she come upon that name if she didn't interact with anyone? It just popped up in her head one day, out of nowhere, and that was how she referred to the prison.

And she stopped falling. Or the feeling did, anyway. And it seemed like she was back in her cell again, after a thorough inspection of touch. There was no hole in the floor. There was no marking. It was like it never happened. Maybe it was a dream?

The door had opened a week ago by her reckoning. Nobody came through it. Nothing was dropped. Light flooded into her cell, mocking her. She couldn't climb. The walls were too smooth. It stayed ajar for a while, maybe 5 or 10 minutes, and then flew shut with a slam. This was the only time that had happened.

The screams never stopped. Not in this hell. It made her think about when she'd be tortured like that. When she'd break.

Just then, the wall to her cell blasted apart, making debris fly all over the place. After a fearful moment of hoping she wouldn't get impaled, the girl straightened up and was astonished to see a person in full metal armor sprint inside.

Eyes wide, she fell back and held her hands up in defense.

"Let's go. We're leaving." She said calmly and grabbed her arm before she could react, dragging her out of the cell.

They ran and ran, the womans' armor clunking all the while. Through twists and turns they never stopped, looking behind them every other turn in paranoia.

The duo stopped at a corner and hid, catching their breath.

"What's your name, girl?" She asked rudely, wheezing heavily.

"Do you know the name Weeper?"

She shook her head and attempted to communicate.

: **i don't understand yo** -:

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" She interrupted her hand waving brashly.

"Save your theatrics. We don't have time for this." Her voice came muffled from the armor.

She couldn't make out what the weird female was saying, but she hoped everybody didn't speak like that.

xxx

Potions went simply enough. Harry walked in and class proceeded as normal. The only difference between this time and last time was that he had had to cut and stir by hand. Snape raised an eyebrow at the entire situation, but said nothing and busied himself with his papers. Every 5 minutes or so, he'd check everyone's progress with a critical eye, looking for any reason to belittle them. This was a delicate work! If you can't stand to be told your errors and perfect them soon, you would in some fashion die from a minor mistake! A wrong stir, counterclockwise as opposed to clockwise, boom. Too few powdered wormwood, too much powdered wormwood, boom. One of the ingredients get diced and not sliced, boom.

This was especially vulnerable in Potter's case, with his lack of magic. Clumsiness was worse that way. His magic couldn't help him, couldn't make his actions more fluid and less hesitant. He was on his own.

At the beginning of the class, Snape learned he now preferred to work that way, too. He wondered what had changed. The boy would always work with the Weasley brat or the Longbottom heir. He even worked with the Granger girl on occasion! What was different now? Did they have a falling-out? Snape continued his musing until the end of class, when all of the students brought a sample of their potion in a vial and cleaned up their cauldrons.

Herbology went much the same, only less with someone closely studying Harry's movements. He was relieved with the lighter atmosphere. It took mounds of stress off of him. That day, they worked with regular plants that didn't have magic, to show the differences. Harry found that he possessed a green thumb. His achievements with the assigned plant were null as when he left it to go get more fertilizer, he came back to discover it was knocked over. Cleaning up the dirt and roots spilled on the floor, he apologized to Professor Sprout profusely and left.

This was why he hardly ever came back to this place. His experience was almost always soiled in some manner and it rendered him disappointed and angry.

He wasn't really angry anymore; he was just left with a feeling of light sadness. That he could've done better but didn't. This is how it will always be. Harry didn't have to stay in the Wizarding World. He didn't have to help these idiots. They could help themselves.

Later that night in the Goblin Cave, Harry slept fitfully. His dreams were horrible, and as a result, woke him up. His head was splitting. Attempting to get up and find a glass of water, the boy was stopped in his tracks by a painfully familiar sensation. His mind was being invaded! He couldn't stop it, either. His body went limp and he succumbed to the force.

"Oh, Harry, that wasn't how the Tournament was supposed to go," His nemesis' soft voice reprimanded him. "You were supposed to participate willingly and keep your magic."

They sat across from each other, on a barren white floor.

"Why should I care how the Tournament went? It would have been hell regardless of the way it happened." He responded spitefully.

"You're right in that regard, Potter. Oh, well," Voldemort seemed resigned.

"I have other opportunities."

"Oi, Tom, do me a favor, eh?"

The spirit bristled from the use of his real name.

"I'm not your servant!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, just humour me. It'll help me think. See the image in my mind and recreate it here, if you don't mind."

Voldemort muttered hatefully about puns and spoiled children but did as he requested, if only to satisfy his own curiosity.

Around them a grassy area with a small railroad came slowly. A sunset sprung in the distance. The nearby clouds were colored pink and orange.

The sky was still a dark blue from being night.

Three telephone poles sprouted from the ground suddenly, each in various states of disrepair. Plants and grass grew in seconds.

And lastly, a little black cart appeared on the tracks.

Harry pulled the string on it and started the engine on it. He gave it a push with a foot and sent it away. The growling engine faded into the distance slowly, along with the clatter of the tracks. A heavy fog grew around them.

"Ha! I can use my leg again!" He rejoiced, dancing.

"We're in your mind, fool boy," Voldemort snapped.

"You're lucky I can't cast any spells, or I'd _Crucio_ you to a blithering mess!"

Harry waved it off.

"Do you need something, Tommy boy?"

"Only to figure out why the Tournament was so skewed. I know now, you pathetic Squib."

The boy closed his eyes and breathed slowly, taking in the air.

"How did one of the best students Hogwarts has had in centuries turn into this?" He asked quietly.

"You want power, you want control, domination. You don't need to kill people for that."

"Oh, but I do, Potter. If I don't, they breed incessantly. Mudbloods are parasites! They do nothing to help. They go to Hogwarts, learn, and then forever leave. Not to mention the ones that stay, they mix and make half-breeds like you. They're ticks sucking the Wizarding World dry! There's no use trying to explain, your feeble mind wouldn't comprehend." His enemy spat horribly.

"We're not that different, Harry. Both abused, tortured, segregated from society," Riddle whispered.

"You don't have to fight me. We can work together. Despite your physical setbacks, your mind is sharp." He said seducively.

"Can I ponder your offer?" Harry requested.

"Of course, all decisions need to be thought through." Voldemort smiled scathingly.

"I must go. My magic is weak as of late. I will contact you soon."

He nodded and the spirit left. Harry had lied. He had no intention of joining his posse. It was laughable, his offers. "Join me Harry! I don't want to die from you!" He mocked derisively in a squeaky voice. He had kicked his ass once; he'd just have to do it again. Only, how? The environment began to fade and lose color, and everything went away. His musings were undeterred.

xxx

The girl had been taken to a white room, devoid of everything save two chairs and a table, also white. Soon, a mature man was brought in. They attempted to sign to each other, the man in varying sign languages each time. Later, he had an idea. Learn her language, or teach her one. She flat-out refused to be taught, and instead complied with showing him hers. This way, she couldn't be the target of an eavesdropping.

It took a very long time. Weeks upon weeks, for that is when he visited, and it was all she ever did, apart from sit there or sleep. She ate three times a day. The food had changed significantly from Var. She found herself looking forward to every meal. Her body began to fill out, and she looked normal as opposed to underdeveloped. Her ribs didn't show anymore, and she was less shy to wear tight clothing.

She was washed upon being brought to the facility. The harsh woman showed her the shower, and was told she would only have once every two to three days, depending on what half of the week it was. Her hair shone and became vibrant.

: **my name is Frank.** **because of your lack of a given name, we decided to provide you with one. From now on, you will officially be called Xenia.:** She didn't know how to feel about the name. Her discomfort showed in some way, and the man became concerned.

 **:do you know what a xenia is? it's a very beautiful flower! it's a compliment!:** he smiled warmly.

She reciprocated and a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach made itself known.

: **we have been looking for a man or woman with the alias of 'Weeper'.:** The man moved his aged hands rapidly.

She responded in kind. **:i don't know anyone. i don't know myself. i can't remember anything.:**

The grey-haired man sighed.

: **i will show you a few photographs. nod or shake your head if they seem familiar.:**

He lifted his briefcase onto the table, the deep black contrasting with the emotionless white. He retreived three pictures.

One of them was another man, only very young. He looked to be in his late teens or early twenties. He meant nothing to her. She shook her head.

The second picture was of a small glowing ball laying on dirt. It was green and blue, and there seemed to be fluid inside of it. She shook her head, although it did intrigue her.

The third photo turned out to be an aerial shot of a very large building, with the top sticking out. It appeared to be destroyed from, what she could tell, a bomb or explosive. The tops and bottoms of the picture were layered with streaks of color. It also meant nothing to her. She shook her head mutely.

: **sorry.:** She signed sadly.

 **:don't worry:** The representative reassured her silently.

 **:we'll try again. we will have more next week.:**

She gave an affirmative signal and waited for the thin man to leave before putting her head down on the table. When would this end? Would this turn into another Var, this time with interrogations? Would the interrogations get worse? Would she be hurt? She hoped and prayed for the best as she slowly fell asleep.


	14. Chapter 14

"A Stalker is forbidden to enter the Room. Especially for his own selfish reasons."

ioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioi

An old woman wearing a shawl sits on a dirty public transport bus, seeming neutral and unaffected by those around her. A small child is in the seat next to her, her feet bouncing back and forth in the air from not being able to reach the ground.

Their clothes are tattered and their skin is rough and leathery. The child has eyes that would give off the impression she is of a much older nature; and yet, she swings her legs carelessly and hums happily to herself in the small and confined space. The bus makes stops randomly but quickly. Passengers depart and board. They all shuffle past the pair with no notice given from either side.

Smoke from the exhaust pipe smothers the back window, allowing nothing in but bright lights that are faint. They illuminate the floor and feet of some passengers, sometimes flickering and shaking as the bus continues on its route. The lights bounce and jump from one side to the other, they snuff out and quickly reappear in the next second.

The old woman mutters something quietly to the child. They get off on the next stop, despite the protests from the driver that their ticket wasn't for a long while. A few curious onlookers watched the pair slowly fade off into the dark city streets, becoming shadow.

They quickly stop at what appears to be an abandoned alleyway. The old woman shoves the child against the gritty brick wall. The backside of her clothes become smeared with old dirt and mud caked into the layout. Rain begins to drench both of them as they stand closely together. "You fucked it up!" She hissed, her strength unlike that of an old beggar. Her words quietly echoed through the lane. A streetlight switched off ominously as morning mist creeped into the town.

"It wasn't my fault!" The little girl protested, seeming very much the character she portrays. Her face was shimmering with trails of tears, and her voice shook.

"'It wasn't my fault!'" The lady mimicks rudely. She releases the child and runs her hands on the buildings and then through her hair, accenting the homeless appearance. "Get ahold of yourself, girl. We have work to do. Don't mess up, or you know what happens," She threatened.

The child gulped audibly and fell in line behind the woman as they continued on their way through the barren roads. She fingered an old black and white photograph. The objects in it crinkled and almost unrecognizable. Summoning what remained of her resolve, the small child folded the picture and returned it to her coat.

xxx

"I don't know what you want me to say, Harry." Fleur responded.

The Hogwarts boy and Beauxbatons girl sat together, holding each other warmly.

They ignored passersby. "I'm a cripple," He whispered sadly, closing his eyes in her embrace. "My crutch isn't working anymore!" Harry gasped and broke the hug, standing slowly. It wasn't from reluctance; it was just another restriction in his daily life, as if he was old and had arthritis.

He threw his rickety cane across the corridor, knocking a suit of armor back and creating a loud _clang._

Arms circled him from behind as he stood weakly. "You're not to me," The French blonde said into his ear.

"For how long? Until you leave? Until you forget me?" He questioned.

"Until you forget us?" The sentence came horribly.

"I won't," She stroked his hair reassuringly. "And your cane is fine, silly boy." Fleur encouraged, trying to lighten the mood.

Harry wasn't for it, but smiled.

"We won't be."

She barely held back a choke.

"It'll be okay, Harry," She kissed his neck.

"I will always be with you, okay? I'll just be gone for a while. It hurts me, too." She murmured.

"I'll miss you, Fleur."

She caressed the heavy ball in her pocket, wanting its' warmth. She wanted the solitude. Not this. She wanted to be _here._ It shone, and shook, and all the feelings she ever felt came to her in an instant. The despair of the Tournament, the anger of Harry's foolish action, the happiness of it all. Feeling on top of the world and yet, not. Her pocket whispered things. Things she didn't hear. It shimmered and became an unforgiving white, surrounded by dark blue. Wisps of a substance came from it. They flew to the roof slowly, hovering like moths at a lamp. In seconds, the corridor was narrowly lit.

An urge overcame them, and soon they were holding each other as if for dear life, swaying slowly in the middle of the hall to a song only they could hear. "Harry?" She mewled.

"Yes?" He inhaled.

"Come back to me." Fleur weeped into his back.

It was his time to comfort her, and there they sat, until the lights winked out. Until her pocket became black. Until the ball vanished. But her feelings remained.

"I will always be with you, my love."

xxx

For them, this was the world. The atmosphere.

Every atom that made up everything was a part of them; for why not so? They treasure the weeping willow. It wilts as is nature. It grows as is life. From a liquid, from a lighter, this could be undone in an instant.

The air was heavy with thought. Who would be right to judge? From a root to a sapling to a trunk, the thing that is holy evolves. It becomes one with the grass. Like God himself has crafted it. They carry its essence. They never know when it will be of use.

They think. They meditate. It comes upon them like no other. They _will_ continue. They must.

"And there was a great earthquake. And the sun became black as sackcloth made of hair. And the moon became like blood. And the stars of the sky fell to the earth, as a fig tree cast its unripe figs when shaken by a great wind. And the sky was split apart like a scroll when it is rolled up. And every mountain and island were moved out of their places. And the kings of the earth and the great men and the rich and the chiliarchs and the strong and every free man hid themselves among the rocks and in the caves of the mountains; and they said to the mountains and the rocks, "Fall on us, and hide us from the presence of Him who sits on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb, for the great day of His wrath has come, and who is able to stand?""

Who are you? What will you be? Such questions are a plague to the internal workings of the mind. Isn't every question?

A pause.

Eyes shift. Brows narrow. Tear ducts open.

A breath. Another. And then nothing.

Eyes close. A face relaxes. A body sinks back.

Everything will return from whence it came.

xxx

"Stalker?"

The voices always come.

Like them, he always answers.

"Yes?" He said valiantly.

"They say you know a place. A Zone."

He sighed.

"If I do?"

"Destroy it."

He spun in his shock.

"What?"

Something terrible overcame him.

"I can't! I won't! Stalkers preserve the Zone! It is our way!"

And he flew. After a brief moment of soaring, he sunk to the ground. A brand new bolt hopped to him, unblemished. Untarnished. And it said, "You can, you must."

Rain fell. There he laid, spread-eagled. His face was slack. And then, he wasn't his own. He gathered himself, raised his arms to nothing in particular, and seemed to confess. To praise, to dictate.

"I can, I must." His voice said hoarsely.

And energy claimed him.

xxx

They had swindled 4 people that day. The woman had proclaimed that the alleyway was hers, and fashioned herself a corner of garbage in which to count their earnings unfairly.

Their trickery consisted of baiting and stealing, hitting and running. The old lady would beg people on the street, and any who were unfortunate enough to stop by had their wallet or purse taken with a swipe.

"Well done, child!" The woman cackled madly.

The child accepted it warmly, as it was the only time in years when she had anything kind said to her directly. "Can we get candy?" She wondered wistfully.

The woman's laughter stopped immediately.

"No! You will get nothing for your insolence!" She yelled brutally.

The little girl curled into herself and cried to sleep.

xxx

Pictures, pictures, pictures. Every other day, Frank came. He came and showed her pictures. She began to like the name given to her. The old man greeted her nicely like every session they had together, and they started.

But this time, one of the pictures had caught her eye.

 **:wait!:**

She signaled.

Frank brought the picture back out for her to study.

 **:yes.:**

xxx

Dumbledore was always tired in the evening. It became a routine. Do paperwork, pass some off to Minerva, receive some to sign, and then return them for her to send and distribute.

Attending the dinners grew to be a chore. Through it all, the Supreme Mugwump retained his cheery demeanor and rosy smile. Harry was no longer a problem, by his own doing, no less. Albus would be able to form his own plan to take down Tom. He vanquished a Dark Lord once, he can do it again.

xxx

Professor Moody was later fired for reason of being traumatic to the student body. The man took it in stride. It had to happen one way or another. He was thankful, quite honestly. Everyone knew of the curse on his position. He would rather it be to his methods than to his life.

It didn't stop him from leaving gifts for his most promised pupils. Not one.

xxx

Krum had arrived back in Durmstrang a few days ago, and he was glad. It may be Durmstrang, but it was _his_ school. The TriWizard Tournament Champion made his way to his room without any error. Upon entering it was a different story. As soon as he twisted the doorknob, he disappeared with a crack.

He was bound and gagged before he could come to his senses.

"Be quiet. Be calm." A serene voice said.

And Viktor found that he was.

"I will remove your bindings. Are you ready?"

He nodded his assent, and muted colors became clearer and clearer before the rag was finally off. The gag soon followed.

"Who are you?" He rasped.

"You wouldn't know."

"Humor me."

"I am prim, I am prickly, touching me you will regret quickly."

Krum groaned.

"A cactus?"

His captor leaned back in a chair opposite him, and shook his head emotionlessly.

"Grass?" He guessed badly.

The man was somewhat surprised, but again shook his head negatively.

"A porcupine?"

Another shake.

"Whatever answer you give, you will be wrong."

"Then why ask?" The Bulgarian grumbled.

"Mental stimulation is a wonderful thing. Now, I must know. Who is the Marked one?"

xxx

She had dreams. Dreams she couldn't make sense of. When she wore their clothes, ate their food, used their facilities, she had these dreams. Not nightmares, no. Weird dreams. Intriguing dreams. But she could never remember them, save for one. A figure in a long black coat was walking and walking, trudging along. Suddenly, noises assaulted them. They stopped their uphill hike and slid a rifle from their shoulder and aimed it in front of them. The rifle shook, barely.

Giant rats ran. An army of them came from the fields. The gun wouldn't be enough. But they began firing. Side to side, they fired. The hill ran red with rodent blood. The rats hissed and spat.

A man shouted something behind the figure, and they stopped firing and drew upright. They turned, slowly. Slowly. And the hood was black. And she awoke. She had this dream once, and only once. But it is enough. She was afraid to mention it to Frank, seeing as they brought on the dream in the first place. So Xenia kept it to herself. She didn't forget. She wouldn't forget.

xxx

The dirt shifts with the wind. The spot is empty. Nearby trees and reeds are humming. The wind brushes.

On one particular blade of grass, a dragonfly lifts off and flies, buzzing away. Buzzing. Buzzing?


	15. Chapter 15

"We did it! We won!" The boy said triumphantly.

The trio looked around themselves at the mirage of destruction and cruelty. Villagers were huddled in the rubble, attempting to save what was left of their homes and belongings. Everything was dust and cinder. Only a quarter of the quaint town remained. And it was shown in their faces, in their gaits. In their eyes. They hated their saviours.

"Did we?"

ioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioi

Harry sprinted through the brush, determined to reach whatever it is causing the smoke. He traversed a small hill. At the peak, he saw an overturned truck, cracked and broken. There were bodies scattered in its midst. He hurried down to scavenge before anyone or anything else could.

There were 3 bodies in total. The first two, after assessing their condition, were dead and cold. The third, however, was alive, faintly, as he looked up at his looter.

"This one seems to be alive. At least death would have saved him from the dreams." He picked the survivor up and hefted him over his shoulders.

"Come, let us see what value Sidorovich will put on your head."

The bunker was dank and forboding. In it, a man sat, hungrily chewing chicken.

Harry descended the stairs to the small room and the trader asked, "What have you got?"

"A body. It's got the mark."

The elderly and fat man stopped eating and replied, "Well, you know the drill, leave them on the-"

Harry interrupted. "This is a _l_ _ive_ one."

Sidorovich turned quickly. "Bullshit! You are lying!"

"Let the Zone take me if I am."

The other cleared the table and motioned for him.

"Put it here."

Looting it, the unfair barterer found a PDA, with one task: Kill Strelok.

Glancing at it, he said, "For this one, I can give you-"

And the survivor grasped the PDA and took it back from the fat man and went limp. His bare arm held the mark - S.T.A.L.K.E.R.

Harry woke with a start, out of breath from moving so quickly with his body.

'These are Strelok's memories.' He mused to himself.

'Why now?'

With a grimace the Chosen one got out of his bed and started about his day. It was relatively normal. He visited Hagrid around noon, before his later class started. It was nice, he got to catch up with the half-Giant. Waving goodbye to his friend, Harry walked slowly back to the castle. He had come to like his weakness; it let him admire the sights around him. In this particular moment, the trees and the birds, the brush moving with the air, it all reminded him.

He didn't have to be here. He didn't have to be him. He could dream. She would be there. He wouldn't feel the catch in his leg, or the pain that aches. He wouldn't feel his scars everything he shrugged on a piece of clothing. He wouldn't have to see himself in the mirror. He wouldn't feel the burning of their gazes on him as he went between classes. He wouldn't feel their silent judgment.

Harry would be okay.

The teen exhaled and returned to Hogwarts. Upon his entry, he saw two students in the midst of a skirmish. Should he intervene? Would it be his place? Was it his business? It didn't matter. They didn't know pain.

Angrily limping up to them, he asked, "You're loud. What's the problem?"

One of the girls, a blonde, scoffed. "So what if we're loud?" She said haughtily.

A great stirring rose within him. He leaned heavily on his cane and flicked his eyes over to her.

"Just because you're a useless liability to your family doesn't mean you have to fuck up the lives of other people." He replied scathingly.

"Here's a suggestion, bear it in mind: Stop breathing. I'm pretty ashamed to be a half-blood with the likes of you," Without waiting for an answer, he proceeded with his earlier question.

" _What_ is the problem?" He requested in a kinder and softer tone to the darker-haired girl with deep blue eyes.

He only gave them a second. Or more accurately, her. She didn't have an answer. The poor thing seemed shocked. A few people had stopped in their daily commute to watch the situation unfold.

"I don't have time for this." Harry stated brashly and lifted a hand to gesture for one of the crowd to move.

They didn't. In fact, they only seemed to grow taller and more imposing. He quickly glanced back to the blonde girl. Green robes. She quickly left the circle along with the brunette who sent a look in his direction before following hesitantly.

"Of course, snakes. Who better?" He moved his hand to the inner pockets of his robe, the pace at a crawl.

"Don't try it, Potter. You don't have magic," A tall Slytherin sneered.

"How do you know what I have?" He murmured.

Before they could let off a spell, he pulled out a ball with a pin and held it above his head. His hand was poised on the upper circle. A finger was taut.

"Go ahead, do it! You don't have the stones." The Boy-Who-Lived galled magnificantly.

A Slytherin in the group had recognized his weapon and recoiled. "Bloody Hell, Potter. You're suicidal." He lowered his wand but still kept it trained.

"Am I? You decide." Their eyes never left him.

"What is it, Langley? What does he have?" The leader interrogated. His wand held a faint tinge of green.

More and more people had gathered around them. One such person happened to be Hermione. She saw the impending fight for what it was and shot a Stunner their way, distracting a few of the Slytherins.

The students around her quickly dispersed and the distracted Slytherins took that time to break away from the gang and surround her as well.

"You do anything, I pull this." Harry warned loudly.

The leader wasn't having it.

"Langley, kill her." He commanded, and shot a bright spell at Harry. Harry wasn't able to dodge or pull the pin, and the grenade slipped out of his hand. With the magical residue in the air, the grenade rolled and went off. Several Slytherins were blasted away into a concrete wall and the one called Langley lost his focus long enough for Hermione to get the upper hand.

She Petrified the lone Slytherin only to be impeded herself.

And Harry was gone.

xxx

When he awoke, his breaths were shallow and painful. He managed to pick up a snippet of a conversation he deduced to be about him or one of the other victims.

"-nto the lower ribs. He has fragments of bone and teeth embedded in him as well. I can't do anything. He can't be apparated, so St. Mungo's is out of the question. He wouldn't have enough time fo-"

A soft hand brushed against his face. "Oh, my sweet and foolish Harry," He looked up quickly, and there she was. Fleur. His vision swam. Her eyes shone and her hair was a tangled mess.

"Get away from me," Harry whispered desolately. He caught onto her instantly.

He pushed her hand away roughly.

"She can't be here. She just left. She wouldn't know." He said, almost to himself.

"But I am and do! Stop being so-" The fatally wounded Potter cut her off.

"What was the last thing we said to each other?"

The outside conversation about his condition had stopped. Feet were shuffling. Shadows were moving in the flourescent curtain.

"'I love you'"? Fleur said quietly. She didn't sound right. Herself.

"Let me die, alone," He responded. "Polyjuice hurts more than it."

Dumbledore quickly walked in, along with McGonagall. His eyes fell upon Harry in the bed and he grew solemn.

"Why did you do it, Harry?"

"I-" His midsection felt sharp. He tried again.

"It's no bother, Headmaster. Talk to your spy portraits." Harry replied.

Professor McGonagall made a face at the spy comment and looked over to her superior. He confirmed her silent question, to her rage.

"And get the double out of here," He added, referring to the Fleur look-alike.

She dropped the act of looking concerned and pushed past Dumbledore without a word.

"As a matter of fact," The dying boy said after a moment, "Don't let anyone else in. I don't trust them."

"Harry, that's horrible." The Deputy Headmistress scolded half-heartedly, but Albus considered it and then nodded.

His breaths became slower and slower, and then were no more. Dumbledore closed his eyes with two fingers and left his portion of the Wing.

Outside it, the double was crying to herself and brandishing her wand. When she saw Albus leave, she attacked him without remorse. " _Reducto!"_ The old man dissolved the spell with a swipe.

" _Reducto!"_ And another.

The girl blinked the tears out of her eyes and tried again.

" _Reducto_." But it fizzled out before it even got halfway, not of his accord.

She fell to her knees, sobbing.

"Why, Dumbledore? My Harry died. You couldn't have let us be together one last time without screwing zat up too? He zought I was Polyjuiced! You're a terrible man."

"Albus, you made him think the actual Fleur wasn't real? Using Polyjuice potion at all for that is..."

McGonagall stopped admonishing him and was speechless momentarily.

"I thought it would be beyond you. I guess I was wrong. Tricking him was absolutely disgusting. You don't deserve your titles."

And she helped Fleur up and they began walking out of the Wing.

"You don't understand, Minerva." The Headmaster defended.

"I understand well enough."

And the Transfiguration Professor led the weeping girl away.

"I will always be with you, Harry. Forever and always, my love." She muttered sadly to herself.

xxx

A young man arrived at the gates of Hogwarts. He wore a short brown coat and blue jeans. The Groundskeeper noticed his presence and asked his business.

He said, "I'm here to visit family." Hagrid picked up an accent, but he couldn't place it. The dusk skies seemed to foreshadow something.

Hagrid was hesitant. "I won't be long. I wasn't able to come earlier. Just need to give my nephew something," He offered with a slight smile. The big man sent a Patronus with his umbrella-wand after saying a soft phrase to it. Moments later, he received one back and let the newcomer in.

The two traipsed up to the castle. Hagrid was still wary. Something was wrong.

xxx

Hermione sat in her room, grieving. She hadn't eaten for two days. She couldn't believe it. She wouldn't. A knock to her door brought her thoughts to an abrupt halt.

"Come in," The Gryffindor girl said absentmindedly.

"Do you know where Mister Potter might be?" He said with a flourish.

"Why?" She asked suspiciously, turning to see her visitor.

"I need to tell him something."

"Tell me it, I can pass it on." Her curiosity was aroused, despite recent events.

"I am prim, I am prickly, touching me you will regret quickly."

"What are you, a porcupine?" She joked.

But he was gone. In his place, was a single leaf. Perhaps it was the way it curled or the way it smelled, but the leaf reminded her of Fleur, for some reason.


	16. Chapter 16

"One day, you'll finish badly, Strelok."

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He intoned softly, yet strong. It was the strength of one who had seen many things. For that matter, it was not physical will he had gained, as he had many layers of fat and his muscles lost their covets. It was the kind of strength only certain people could achieve; his state of mind reflected this.

"The river will reflect our desires. Under its surface, our hopes and our fears sire."

But in this, all great things come to an end. As such, so did his mind. It became broken. Where he was a loud and confident individual before, he was now quiet and insecure. He hid in the corners of bars and shied away from visitors. He kept his face leaned to the floor and his shoulders back.

One thing never changed, and that thing was his love for beauty. He saw it in everything. Landscapes, buildings, music, humans, nature. Nothing was below his fundamental sights. There was always a way for him to twist positively. He saw qualities in a homeless drunk. He felt the allure of ripples from a bogged-down lake. He heard it in voices and sounds. He touched it in the walls of a decrepit home.

Even after all of these things, it held a great irony. He never saw it in himself. His soul wouldn't permit it. It couldn't. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and such a vision escaped his self.

"I suppose, Mr. Prim and Prickly," Hermione said sardonically from behind.

He came in further to inspect her things. One item that happened to catch his attention was a snowglobe. It shone and spoke to him.

"May I?" He asked respectfully.

It was a day after his initial welcome to the castle. He appeared to leave after being led out by the Groundskeeper, but there he was the next day.

She nodded silently. Hermione was enticed, and she wouldn't stop until she found out why.

He moved the snowglobe in a circle in his hand and stroked it almost religiously. It was enchanted to always snow, and within it, a happy town was rejoicing.

The man set it back down and continued his rifling.

"Oh, and what is this that meets my eye?" He found a quill on her desk. His weird speech piqued her interest.

"It is a quill. Surely you would know?" She replied, a little bite along with her answer.

"Hmm, yes, but it is different than other quills."

"Because it's mine?" She couldn't tell if she was getting into or being tired of his questions.

"It has marks. Marks that fill." He pointed to a few scratches and light carves in the body.

"I bought it to use, not to have it sit around as a decoration, sir." She held herself with a tinge of arrogance.

"To use on a brief notion, when you are bored? Or when writing the ingredients for a potion, with the wealth of knowledge you hoard?"

"I use it regularly, because I'm at a school which requires writing." The girl said with insolence.

"Ah, but your other quills..." He picked up others and held them with two hands as if they were miniature swords and he was an expert fencer.

"do not fit the bills." He concluded with an emotion she couldn't make out. His eyes sparkled.

"If it's my preferred quill?" She batted back.

"If it is your preferred quill or one you use because you have as you will? Or, something particularly damaging occured to this specific quill, and you let me convince myself of thus far? It could be a spell, to raise the bar. What I am seeing and touching might not even be there, and my mind is tricking itself, unaware." His intelligence startled the young girl.

"What if it isn't?" She asked quietly.

"How could I trust what you say? I've only known you for a day. My confidence is not so easily given, and it takes long to have become risen."

For reasons she didn't know, Hermione had a headache.

xxx

"This monotony is exhausting." She sighed longingly.

Harry opened his eyes and let out a deep breath.

"For you."

"You seem unsurprised. Rather, indifferent, I should say." She responded after a moment of thought.

"Of?"

"Me. This. Us. I'm sure I'm your first female passenger." The lady sounded unsure of what she was saying.

His eyelids moved for a fraction of a section but remained closed.

"There is no you, this, or us, outside of me ferrying you to the Room and back."

Her blonde hair looked almost white in the waters' reflection from the sun. Her eyes were a marvelous blue.

"I have strange dreams, and you remind me of them," She remarked distantly.

"Strange dreams?" Harry got up and leaned on a nearby railing, watching the water move by.

"I see hordes of rats and a man shooting into them. It's the same dream every time."

His eyes widened imperceptibly.

"Is there another who shouts?"

Her white-golden eyebrows raised.

"How did you know?"

"Lucky guess. Now, would you like to go to the Room or continue our conversation? It makes no difference to me, but it's your money."

"Who is the one that weeps?" She cried suddenly.

" _What?"_ He reeled in shock.

"The one who weeps," The woman didn't back down. "They say he's lost."

"They?" He wondered deeply.

"The ones I heard the tale from."

"A man is only lost if he makes himself. I will talk at a later time. We have to go or we will lose time. It moves differently in the Zone, and you never want to be in the same place for a long time here. We were blessed to stay here this long. Gather your things, we are going now." Harry was done with the conversation.

She wasn't.

"You're a Stalker? Why do you Stalk?"

"If you're going to keep up with this, then we should at least move to another area. Here, tie these strips to these nuts. I can't or I would."

"Why can't you?" She huffed as she began the process.

"Stalkers cannot interfere with the fate of their passengers. If you tie poorly, we will lose a nut, and that is one less chance for you."

"'For you'? Why not us?" She handed him one and started on another.

He tossed it widely in front of them and they walked slowly, careful of their steps.

"Stalkers know the Zone. We embrace it. Instinct guides us, where it parades you like an uncivilized animal."

Harry picked up the unharmed nut and bandage and threw it in another direction.

"I Stalk because there's nothing for me behind the barbed wire and high fence. Their guns and gimmicks don't intimidate me. I am a blacksmith, and the Zone is my forge. This is my trade, and I know it well."

"Aren't you curious about me?" The blonde girl wasn't used to being so callously ignored.

"Don't take it personally. I don't ask about my passengers. They're here for their reasons and I am mine."

Another nut made and thrown.

"What if I told you about me?"

"Ooh, you very well could, I suppose." He flexed his hand and touched the tips of nearby grass swaying.

"But remember, it's your money." He reminded inoculately.

"I'm not sure what I was before I came here. I don't remember anything. I get asked questions and shown pictures to identify." She hugged herself and looked down. Her hair flew in the wind.

"This is also the only time I can speak audibly."

"Oh?" He grunted, watching the clouds pass. "Maybe we aren't so different. But, there is a difference between us. This will be my final journey in the Zone, and I don't think I will leave."

"And why is that, Stalker?" She picked at a grey flower in a bare part of the ground absently.

"I'll tell you later. But I will divulge this: a Stalker always needs an apprentice. We carry a rule of Two, and I'm sorely lacking in it."

The short girl mulled this nugget of information quietly. She didn't know what he mean't.

The two eventually left that area, but the water kept flowing. The walls and the bridge kept decaying. The clouds and the sky kept moving. The wind kept blowing.

Their journey wouldn't end for a long while yet.

And soon, they encroached upon an anomaly of sorts. The girl couldn't see it or hear it, but the Stalker guiding her had changed.

"Wait, stop." He held an arm behind him with an outstretched hand.

"What is it?"

He didn't reply. Perhaps he was too busy with his thought or his nut-tying, but he gave her no answer and crept forward.

All of a sudden, the wind blew hard. It wasn't enough to knock him off balance, but Harry knew. He made his way back to the girl.

"We must find another way. The Zone warns me."

"It warns you?" She said, bemused.

"It is a living and breathing thing, this place," They retreated a few paces and set out on another direction. The water touched their ears again, and they happened onto a long bridge.

"...you would do well to remember that."

The hills were steep alongside the bridge, but the duo managed somehow. After a few minutes, they reached the top and looked down onto the fast river.

"The Zone garners respect. It _commands_ respect. And rightfully so, because it's a gift seldom few have appreciated."

The bridge was in a state of disrepair and curried rust. But Harry was confident in himself.

"Come," He offered a hand to her as he lowered himself onto the platform from the high peak. She took it with no hesitation and a childlike look of wonder. Enrapture crossed her mind.

"Don't you see the art in such a place?" The water was a tenacious black and had metal debris sticking out of it.

Xenia smiled.


	17. Chapter 17

You unlocked this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension. A dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind. You're moving into a land of shadow and substance of things and ideas. You just crossed over into... the Twilight Zone.

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Internal harmony was always something Harry strived for. It drove him. But certain things would offrail his attempts, regardless of their fruition.

In the Forbidden Forest, the weathered Stalker would regale him with tales of horrible things. The Monolith, the cult that would protect their beloved rock at all costs, had undertaken a project. Several, in truth. But that wasn't what this was about. This one machine they made prevented Stalkers from making it to Pripyat, or further, to the Wish Granter.

And he heard things. Things that scared him. Psi-voices, as he later found out when the Stalker explained the phenomenon.

But that was all over now.

"If you're dead, is your journey over?"

Xenia wondered idly.

"Not yet," Harry smiled sadly.

"I have one last trip through the Zone."

And the two kept on, stepping carefully over old debris and gnarled tree limbs.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken. This will not be your last journey through this place, and I am not who you think I am," The blonde stated. "I'm an angel. I've taken on a form that bears great significance to you. She does have dreams. I've reflected her thoughts and emotions as best as I could.

But, Harry Potter," She corrected herself and stood up straight.

"Stalker, your trip is at an end. Your time is over."

He wasn't sure how to react. Until suddenly, a great weakness came over him, and liquid streaked down his face.

So there he laid, hugging the ground. Hugging the grass. Harry exhaled deeply and covered his tear-filled eyes.

"I don't know whether I was right or wrong. But I made it," He echoed hoarsely.

"And I guess I should be thankful for that."

And from nearby grass, a dragonfly sat, watching with interest.

And it buzzed away.

xxx

"Make sure nobody comes in," Hermione gestured to the doorway behind the man.

He acknowledged her request and stood patiently.

"I came across this weird stone a few weeks ago," She began, for some reason unknown to her.

"Whenever I touch it, it glows and I feel things. Complete happiness all at an instant, like the entire world is okay. Like there isn't a Dark Lord or blood squabbles. Like people don't die everyday. Like _I_ _'m_ okay."

She brought it out with a swish of her wand and a _ker-plunk_ of a book falling over.

"It gives you happiness?" The strange young man asked softly. She nodded and seemed to fight an inner battle briefly before handing it to him carefully.

"It gives me memories."

He saw himself. But he was changed. Older. Harder. Stronger. This other version of him had obviously faced some horrible hardships. Something nasty happened even beyond them. You could see it in his eyes. You could see it in his wrinkles. He hesitated briefly before doing things, as if afraid his slightest action would damn them all. And in his hand, he carried a single brown leaf. It took him to recognize what it was. It had holes in it and was dry and crisp. But he knew it. A leaf from a weeping willow.

xxx

"What will happen to me, if you're my guardian angel? How will I fare in this afterlife?" He muttered from the earth.

"Take this fantasy away," Harry motioned to the singing birds and the grass and the trees. "I can't take any more delusions. I want to see reality. Not this half-baked hope. Show me what this place really is." The boy commanded resolutely.

Xenia snapped her fingers and everything became white.

"You never saw Writer. You never saw Professor. You never led anyone into or out of the Zone. But you are still a Stalker," She thought aloud.

"That may count for something."

"What?"

"Angels handle the dead. In your case, you could ferry them to us. Think of the one figure that humans always use. What is his name? What is his name?" The angel mused.

"Death?"

"Yes! Death. Just no cloak or scythe."

"Can you have multiple forms?" Harry questioned.

"Hmm, yes. But only three. We have rules up here, too, you know." The girl responded.

"You can also act as a kind of guide to the lost. Not how you're thinking. Someone who recently lost a loved one, or went through some great trauma. Higher-ups pick your human. It can never be your significant other though, so don't get your hopes up."

"How will they see me? Will they think they're going crazy?"

'Xenia' shook her head rapidly.

"No, no, you'll be seen like a normal person. People will see you akin to their thoughts. Sort of like visible or audible ones. It's hard to explain, but you'll get it after a few times. Everyone does."

"Fine. When do I start?"

The angel smiled happily and snapped her hand loudly.

"Now!"

xxx

Harry gasped and awoke. He laid on a cold wooden floor. It was soft and without nicks, and he was immensely glad. The last thing he needed was a splinter.

"Hermione?"

The girl held an artifact in her hand, a Fireball. But it didn't seem to burn her. She wasn't screaming. It was then that Harry realised she wasn't hurt or in pain. It was then that he also realised that this specific Fireball was the one he had given her; the one she cradled all those nights ago, in the dark and gloomy Astronomy Tower under the raining night skies.

She didn't hear him. But she did stiffen ever so slightly.

Harry remembered his task and was about to go for a test drive when he was interrupted by a tall man in the girls' dormitory entrance.

"Hermione, no! Don't give it to him!" He shouted and raised a hand futilely.

His bookworm friend shook her head as if to rid away a bout of confusion and handed the mysterious newcomer her artifact.

 _"What was that?"_

Harry just knew, somehow, he had heard her thoughts. They sounded exactly like her words, but far above where he would normally hear her. To illustrate it, he would say it was like she was speaking from her forehead rather than her mouth.

"What was what?" The frail boy grinned.

He did a little jig as he regained the use of his legs fully, for however long that would be.

All Hermione heard was a buzzing. A sort of static in her brain. Something like angry bees. With each burst of sound, it became clearer to her.

"Get the ball back, Hermione." Harry strained the pronunciations to get the message through.

 _"-ball back, ione."_

He tried again after hearing the echo.

And again.

The strange man had a distant look in his eyes and became mystical. As she was just about to retrieve the Fireball back, he said softly. "It gives you happiness?"

"Yes." She replied in an even tone.

"It gives me memories."

And his eyes lost their cloudiness and he gave her back the modified stone without any misconceptions.

"He looks familiar. Who is he?" Harry enunciated.

 _"Who is he? I don't even know! He only told me some rubbish line! 'I am prim, I am prickly, you'll regret meeting me very quickly.' And to think I shared Harry's rock with him."_

Hermione was disgusted with herself from Harry's encouraged line of thought.

But Harry was intrigued. A porcupine?

That moniker would make sense. But why was he here? Why now? What had changed? Harry needed to get a message to Hermione. Somehow. He had to bridge the gap between their barrier. The Chosen One could figure it out. He _would_ figure it out. Just after she stopped sobbing and clutching the orange-red mass.

"You can't see me." Harry stated.

He had remained there as girls came and went from the room. It was a dream to almost any other boy, to be surrounded by other girls. But he had his. His he would never see again.

" _You can't see me. I can't see what?"_

"I'm inside your mind. I guide you."

" _I'm going insane."_

Harry sighed.

"Who you just talked to was my old teacher. Be wary of him. He isn't himself."

" _I need to see Madam Pomfrey."_

His former friend rushed out of the room.

As the door closed, time stopped. The door hung slightly ajar, and a strand of Hermione's hair could be seen through the crack.

'Xenia' stepped out of a nearby wall.

"Do you see what you did wrong?"

"I tried to contact her." Harry said miserably.

"No, you did it the wrong way. Try again."

She vanished, and every event from the past hour replayed itself backwards like an old VHS tape in reverse.

Harry blinked and felt a massive migraine coming on.

He focused and attempted to piece together his old dreams.

He brought his memories together like fragments and planned to transfer them to her thoughts when she slept.

How she would interpret it, he didn't know.

xxx

Xenia would never understand the dreams she had. The most recent one was of traveling through an unknown place with some sort of guide with a long tattoo on his arm. She told him about her strange dreams only to wake up before he could turn and reply.

Would this continue? She had to get out of this place, somehow.

"Frank!" The little blonde girl shrieked.

And then she startled herself.


	18. ASCENSION

"How much do you charge to kill someone?"

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Get out of the Wizarding World. That was her first thought. Why, she didn't know. She just suddenly had an intense distrust of those around her. Other people would shrug off their feelings and go to class. But other people weren't Hermione. She knew to depend on her instincts. Call it self-preservation, call it strength, call it will, whatever need be. She was a Muggleborn. That meant she would always be hated and prejudiced against. The odds would not be in her favor. She had to play on the home court, and that's exactly what she would do.

As she was packing her belongings for an impromptu departure, the door creaked open behind her and clacked shut.

"Ginny, I'm busy at the moment," She called over her shoulder.

The other girl didn't reply. Hermione turbed to see the cause, as her younger friend was normally really bright and outgoing.

But it wasn't Ginny.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts stepped broadly across the room, peering at her.

"Going on a trip, Miss Granger?" He wondered idly.

She hid her personal items behind her and became defensive.

The air grew stiff and warm. And Hermione knew why. She threw up her shield at the last moment before Dumbledore cast a spell at her. It barely held.

"Testing my defense, sir?" She hoped faintly.

He smiled grimly. His hair began to swirl and glow.

"I'm afraid that won't be the case, Hermione."

A loud sound pierced her ears, and she let up in her protection to cover them. She didn't know what it was, because she hadn't yet been attacked. But she soon knew why.

Albus Dumbledore laid on the floor. A pool of blood seeped from his head, where a circular hole had been made.

The young man returned the pistol to his coat and blinked slowly, like he was unsure of what he had just done. He brushed a hand across the wrinkles on his forehead and gestured to Hermione.

"Get your things." He stated.

xxx

They were on a train heading west. The ground around them was full of snow and reflected the rays of the sun. Their compartments created a homely feeling and the two were soon relaxed. She was, anyway.

They sat in a booth. Her savior looked out the window at passing sights while occasionally sipping at his black coffee.

"I need something to call you." Hermione insisted.

He looked up at her.

"Is it necessary?" He asked.

"Yes." She responded instantly, and not a little impatiently.

"I've had a lot of names. For instance, I was once called Wei. In Egypt, the locals referred to me as Perry."

"Perry?" The ex-Hogwarts student repeated with a grimace on her face.

"I know, it sounds strange. Call me what you want."

"Are you sure?"

He took a long draw from the cup and waited for the waiter to come back around before returning to their conversation.

"I really don't mind. Do you want to know a few things about me? It's only fair."

Hermione was interested. He reminded her of Neville, and soon she knew why. He had a green thumb and loved plants. She was the entire opposite. In her childhood, as a grounding, she was sent to weed the yard. That ended her fascination with the small green things fast.

"Who was the man that followed Potter?" WP asked out of nowhere.

"His bodyguard? I'm not sure. I only ever saw him once," The bookworm confessed sheepishly.

"That's okay," The man diffused her anxiety with his soothing tone. "Do you know where he is now?" He looked into her eyes with a hidden determination.

"I-I-" She stuttered wordlessly.

"I have to know, Hermione." WP waited patiently like a seasoned therapist.

"I'm not sure. I'm sorry." She felt guilty.

"Don't worry. We have time. I have a few ideas."

The atmosphere became very awkward and stifled.

"What was the rhyming about?" Hermione asked suddenly.

"I felt poetic. What, I can't have my moments?" WP looked affronted.

"No, I was just curious!" She replied quickly.

"Relax, I'm just messing with you. I was then, too."

"Oh." Her face felt red and flushed.

After a while a thought came to her out of nowhere and she felt like she would burst if she didn't act on it.

"WP?" She said tersely.

"WP?" He smirked. "Yes?" He replied after a chuckle.

"I was wondering... I researched a weird occupation," Hermione lied.

"And the rite of passage from Master to Apprentice was presenting a silver bolt. Would you know what it is? Like I said, it was weird to read about. I want to know more."

He adopted a confused look and knitted his eyebrows together.

"A bolt? Like nails and bolts? Are you sure it was an occupation?"

"I'm pretty sure, but I might be wrong."

She pressed.

"Hmm, it does sound familiar, but I can't think of anything right now. Sorry." His apology sounded sincere. He seemed like he really wanted to help her but couldn't. Everything seemed right. Too right.

Hermione needed to think.

xxx

"How will you find Strelok?" She asked him later, before they both turned in for the night.

"I have my ways." He smiled secretively.

She was falling asleep as she realised that she called Harry's bodyguard a different name. Who was Strelok?

Sleep overcame her.

Morning on the train was a tiring process and gave her a headache. Still, she persevered.

When they reached their destination, her partner found an old car and managed to somehow hijack it and get it running. He winked at her and motioned for her to get in the passenger side. She did, and they traveled over the German countryside.

The car heater warmed her up quickly and her troubles melted away. She took relish from their journey.

They told jokes to each other and laughed. Hermione felt another warmth.

WP stopped to refuel the little green automobile several times over the course of the day. He told her to relieve herself when she could, and did so himself. After all, who wanted to go in the reeds off of a busy road?

She looked over.

"Where are we going?"

"A safehouse I prepared." He said briefly.

Day turned to night, and Hermione felt her eyes become heavy. She started to drift off.

"Hermione! Wake up!" WP raised his voice minutely.

"What, what?" She asked, concerned.

He never took his eyes off of the road or the mirrors.

"Did you throw out your wand? They'll track it." He warned.

"No, I have it here." She took it out of her purse.

"Good."

He took it from her, snapped it with one hand, and threw it out the window, letting it land in a swampy portion of ground.

"I need something to protect myself." Hermione refrained from begging. She was dependant on her magic.

He handed her a long knife from his pocket.

"Go to sleep. We'll be there soon." The nerdy teen girl did as he requested and shut her eyes.

He waited until she was breathing steadily in the pattern of sleep to let out a long breath. This was stressful.

Lights passed overhead, making Hermione murmur and try to turn. Her eyelids flickered and threatened to open, but didn't.

He plucked one of his favorite CDs from his pocket and fed it into the small slot in the front of the car. Music flooded the vehicle at a low volume. WP relaxed.

 **"-За сигарету и даже пол-жизни не жалко за это!"**

Hermione shifted and woke up.

"Ugh," She groaned. "Turn it down." And complained.

"It _is_ down." He pointed out. But he complied and turned it down to a whisper.

"Happy?" WP said sarcastically.

"Very," She muttered and fell back asleep.

Soon they made it to the rumoured safehaven. WP parked the car in an empty lot and removed the plates, replacing them with false ones. He went around the car and opened the passenger door, making sure his rider was leaning on the door. She fell out onto the snow and shrieked.

"What the hell?" She hissed.

He waited until she was standing before wearing a shit-eating grin and telling her to wake up.

"We're here."

"I see that." The girl replied grumpily.

WP lost all humor and became serious in a matter of a second.

"Get inside, quickly." He ushered her in the apartment door.

After she was in, he followed her and blocked the door with a tall nearby cabinet. Heading up the stairs from the split entrance, the young man hung his coat on the rack and turned on an old TV.

Hermione rummaged through the kitchen looking for any food. The trip yesterday had sapped her of her energy. They hadn't stopped much for food or drinks.

Finding some "local delicacies", she loaded them onto a pan and heated them up in the oven.

"How long will we stay here?" She inquired curiously.

"Not long," WP answered, maintaining his focus on the antique television. "It's never good to stay in a place for long."

She nodded to herself and listened to the channel he was watching as she scarfed down the hastily-made meal.

'Wake up.' His voice echoed.

"What?" Hermione looked up.

"Hmm? I didn't say anything." The man replied from the couch.

"Are you sure? Maybe it was outside." She huffed.

"I didn't hear anything. Get your ears checked." WP grinned to himself.

Wake up?

Symbols flooded her head.

8916-8910,31-23,4,7. Thirty-two? Four? Sixty-eight? But the next thing had her out like a light.

It was Harry. He stood right in front of her expectantly. The boy looked clean and professional. It was like he never died.

But he looked irritated. Concerned. Above all, pleading.

"Hermione." He prodded. "Wake. Up."

She did the opposite.

xxx

"No! It's you! It's _always_ been you!"

Hermione groaned and opened her eyes to see herself laying in a pool of drool. Her head was pounding. Their argument (conversation?) paused.

"How do they know?" It resumed.

"Something changed."

"What?"

"I don't know! Something... significant. Something important."

She kept her breath steady for fear of discovery.

"Var?"

"No. Maybe. That was years ago, Krieger!"

Krieger sighed.

"We need to wake up the Subject." He said after a moment. His voice was deep and mature.

"We can't!" The second one answered, horrified.

"We must. There are no other options. I'll brief them."

A door slammed shut and a swear was heard. Then things grew quiet.

She didn't move.

Voices came from nearby. Hermione realised they were from vents.

"Listen to me. _He knows._ It was all in your head. We brought you here. He's still alive, and so are you."

Shuffling was heard. "Find him. Kill him. Understand?"

The other room became muffled.

"They're not human. They're everywhere." The Subject gasped.

"They're not _human._ That's the point. Zero, seven, three, one, one, nine, eight, zero!

"Zero, seven, three, one, one, nine, eight, zero."

"Seven!" Krieger barked.

"Seven." The Subject repeated numbly.

A gun cocked.

"Verify!" Krieger screamed.

"Verify." The Subject said dully.

xxx

In her room, the silvery-blond blue-eyed prisoner known as Xenia awoke.

A seven was imprinted on the table. And it was blood red.


	19. REDEMPTION

"I felt something, gnawing at me."

ioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioi

She had to find WP. Absolutely had to. What happened? Where were they? She had to get out. She had to escape.

To her dismay, she discovered she was in a small black prison cell. It reminded her of Azkaban.

 **In the darkness, Snape clutched his forearm.**

Did she get caught? Would a Dementor eat her soul? Hermione shook her head to ward off the thought. She had to stay calm and keep her head.

"WP?" She whispered into the hallway at a risk.

No answer.

The bookworm sat back against the wall and started to lose hope.

xxx

It had been a few months. WP wasn't coming. Nobody was. She was committed to her fate. Until one day, when things changed. Hermione found a little hole in the hard wall. Not enough to climb into or do anything with, of course. But she was able to get her hand through and grasp for anything on the other side. And what she dragged out rekindled her desire.

It was a little piece of toilet paper, wet and ruined from the pipes above. But she could make it out.

It read, 'Six.' And it was red.

xxx

"Why does it always come to this? Whatever you say, whatever you think," The older version wheezed. "I ... did my best. I survived. Is that so bad? To want to live?" He laid back on the ground and closed his eyes in defeat. Warm blood trickled down his face onto the pavement. "It doesn't matter now." His voice wavered. "You don't know. You don't remember."

One's grip on the weapon never faltered, it never slid. He had conviction.

"What don't I remember?"

The injured figure rose from the ground slowly and retrieved from his jacket pocket a single brown rock. It had holes and resembled a moon made of mud and dirt. He smiled weakly at his apprentice.

"Don't worry. I won't fight you." Two laid a hand on One's shoulder and gently took the handgun from him with care like that of a parent.

"I always wanted to help when I was a child. Be it people, plants, animals, I nurtured everything. I've always been the most selfless I could be. But I won't be known for that. I'll be branded as a traitor. I'll be criticized for being a murderer. I am the eternal scapegoat of your troubles. Yes, I have taken lives. I did it because I had to. You wouldn't understand. To see a group invade and ruin such a true miracle, my homeland no less, is horrible. But it wasn't for revenge. I'm not shallow. The Zone is for everyone. It is a being to be treated with respect. They fight and take territories and have petty squabbles. That happens in the Great Land, not in my home. Not anymore."

Two sighed and looked up to the stars in the night sky with great reverence.

"What did they tell you, my son?"

His attacker was silent and solemn. "A great many things. None good."

"Are you scared?"

"I have my very own Wish Granter to find."

Two crossed his hands between his back and stood up straight after handing the weapon back.

"Do your job. Complete the mission. Follow your orders."

"Why?"

Two smirked knowingly and said nothing.

One slowly straightened his arm after a moment's thought and aimed at his forehead.

"It's over now, Weeper. It's over, now."

A quick tear escaped his eye as he squeezed the trigger.

"For you, Marked one."

xxx

WP wished he had done better things. Things he could be named remarkable for. Things to be proud of. But he was reduced to this mockery. "I'm losing time." He murmured to himself in the still dawn air.

"Hermione," He glanced over his shoulder at the stirring girl on the couch.

"Wake up. It's time to go."

She was disillusioned. It was a dream? The Six seemed real. With nary a word she rose and quickly prepared herself.

"Where are we going?" She asked curiously.

"I like to rotate," Her partner replied mysteriously. She groaned.

xxx

The Subject had been ordered to carry with him a small speaker. At designated times of day, it recited spouts of numbers for him to repeat. With every one, his resistance became less. With every one, he got closer.

xxx

"I didn't think I would find you in such a place, Stalker."

"It is my calling," He replied earnestly. "My home."

"You don't have anywhere else to go?"

They asked.

He chuckled dryly. "Like behind the wire? No, I'm afraid not. This is my bread and butter, it seems."

"It seems?"

"People don't like to share their innermost feelings. I would think neither of us will be the ones to break that mould. But then, who am I? Some lonely guide, ferrying Passengers."

"Where is your Apprentice?"

He hummed absently. "I've yet to take one on."

"You can't wait long, you know. Not with the Zone being so unpredictable."

"I'd know better than you." He half-heartedly taunted back.

Something was tossed towards him from the dark corners. He picked up the small object and realised it was a bolt. But it was irregular; it had a dark red coating, and a large five.

xxx

'Come to me, Stalker. Your journey will soon be complete. Come to me.'

And he did. Bestowed in all of its glory was the magnificent rock, in the basement of the sarcophagus. It glowed and shone in the unlit antechamber. It may as well have been a theater. His life had been leading up to this glorious moment. He shan't waste it.

The Stalker lowered his hood and looked around precariously. There was nothing except for the clicking of his Geiger. "I..." He trailed off. What did he want? What did he wish for? What was his ambition?

"I want-"

His eyes filled with tears and he blinked them away. The sudden display of emotion knocked him off balance. But he summoned the remnants of his strength. He stared into the rock the Monolith so highly worshipped. He dug his feet into the junk on the floor and bared himself.

"I want the Zone to disappear."

He felt like he was made anew. There were no problems on the Earth anymore. Things were okay. Nobody suffered anymore. The lone Stalker took a deep breath and opened his eyes only to discover he could no longer see.

xxx

"It's done," He surprised the bookworm teen as he walked back into the room with various scrapes and tears. "I found him."

"And?" She replied, somewhat disinterested.

"It's over. Finally."

"No, not yet. There's still Voldemort."

"Voldemort?" Young Strelok asked.

"He's immortal."

Her companion retreived a small plant from his jacket and made sure it had roots before submerging the stem in a cup of water.

"Immortal?" He scoffed. "I doubt it."

"Don't. It's with Dark magic."

He schooled his features. "There's no such thing as Light or Dark. Your circumstances form you. Your will determines everything. You, maybe. Not magic itself."

"How would you know?" She responded with a touch of humor.

He smiled.

xxx

The hunt for Riddle took a long time. Days. Weeks. Months. WP made sure they were never caught or followed for very long.

They hung around magical places, and left a few sloppy tracks to attract his attention. It was now a waiting game.

xxx

He waited with a hefty rifle. It was sure to cause some damage, even if magic was involved. At the very least, a distraction.

She told him he would likely 'teleport' in.

He was outside Hogsmeade. She was pretending to be interested in some sop to establish herself. He was laying on the top of a cliff narrowly looking over the town. _Nobody would know._

Hermione would follow and take down any stragglers. Her job was to incapacitate his guards preferably without his knowledge.

It was a dark and dreary day. Storm clouds hung over the quaint village.

He Apparated in with a large handful of men. They were all in dark cloaks and menacing.

"I know Harry Potter is dead. You have nothing to threaten the Dark Lord!" He cackled loudly. "Don't be foolish. Join us. Potter _and_ Dumbledore are dead. You can't win. You won't win!" Voldemort screamed to the buildings. He then motioned with his wand and had his followers spread out into the town.

Strelok took that moment to take the shot. He hit a Death Eater right in the skull. Magic wouldn't revive death. He hurried and topped 2 others before they realised the direction the shots were coming from and disapparated in black mist.

He packed up his gear and sprinted away as fast as he could to his fallback position.

Hermione was on the move. She grabbed a broom from a nearby shop and shot up into the air.

He had to really haul ass to beat them to the spot. Once he got there, it was over. He told Hermione to stay well away before their plan commenced. She didn't know why, but did as he asked.

The young man hid in the tall grass and primed his artifact.

xxx

Voldemort and his men soon reached the field. The 7 remaining Death Eaters set themselves apart to gain more ground and began moving through the grass, sending spells at anything that moved.

"Give up! The War is over!" Riddle announced with a laugh.

The artifact slid open, and with it, a slimy ooze. He had little time.

WP let off a few rounds their way to garner attention, and set up the little ball so it wouldn't be seen. His Geiger clicked ominously. He shut it off and prayed.

They moved slowly towards him, using every destructive spell they could think of.

"Don't kill them. Rip off their limbs. They can bleed out." Riddle ordered.

And the Elephants' Foot radiated...

xxx

Hermione went as high as she could bear. Using brooms was never her thing. That hadn't changed from earlier years, and likely wouldn't ever. She went past the point where WP held his sniping position.

She found a battlefield later, and zoomed down to rummage through what was left.

Voldemort and his group had retreated after losing their focus and not being able to cast as effectively as before. Voldemort swore to punish whoever had done this. They perished later into the night.

"WP!" She said happily.

"No!" He coughed and brushed his face with his skin turning red and dark. "Stay away, Hermione."

"What happened, WP?" She brandished her wand, just in case.

"I was never WP. Call me Weeper."

He threw the artifact weakly.

"They can't defeat radiation. Your war is over. You can come over now."

She slowly walked over to him and offered a hand after a second of hesitation.

He shook his head and laid in the field. Strelok hugged the grass to his body and whimpered.

"Here, take this," He gave her something.

"Don't be sad, Hermione." He remarked after seeing her face.

"I will always be with you." And his chest stopped rising.

She opened her hand to see what he handed her. To her shock, it was a clean silver bolt. It had no imperfections or markings. It looked brand new.

And it was hers.

xxx

Somewhere, somewhen, a little red 5 turned to a 4.


End file.
